


A Whole New World

by RogueLioness



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubcon Kissing, Dubious Consent, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Humor, I don't know how this ends yet, Let's see how this goes, Might not follow all the plot, Modern Girl in Thedas, Non-Inquisitor OC, OC Character knows stuff, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Out of character behaviors, POV Multiple, POV Solas, SCIENCE!, Slow Build, Solas better watch out, Someone has a potty mouth, Tags May Change, non-canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-11 12:59:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 92
Words: 307,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7052848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueLioness/pseuds/RogueLioness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samarra Bayart is a researcher, albeit one with a small Dragon Age obsession. So when she finds herself in Thedas, she's convinced she's in a dream... till she realizes she's not.</p>
<p>Given the title of Oracle (which she's not a fan of, thank you very much, she's a scientist) she must carefully walk the line between using her knowledge of the game to guide the Inquisition, while protecting herself and her secrets.</p>
<p>Can she put what she knows to get the best ending for the ones she cares for? Or will she crash and burn in the wolf's jaws?</p>
<p>[Note: NSFW chapters will be marked with a *]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Good Traveler Has No Fixed Plans And Is Not Intent Upon Arriving

**Author's Note:**

> Update frequency: Weekly

_Day 45: Specimens display no abnormal symptoms. No signs of adverse reactions identified. Factor h-alpha seems to be working with optimal efficiency. Blood drawn from subject A and D to be tested on day 46 as per study methods. Parameters to be tested include haemoglobin content and structure, as well as blood clotting factors._

She lifted her fingers from the laptop and stretched her fingers, letting out a sigh as she worked them from their stiffness. Quickly entering in the date and time, as well as her lab signature, she saved the data and shut down the computer, more than ready to head home. As usual, she was the last person to leave the lab - her friends having left hours ago - and she was not startled to see the inky blackness of the midnight sky outside.

She lifted her head up at the strange sound. For the third time today, the ultracentrifuge shuddered violently, glowing with a sickly green light. She panicked and walked over to it quickly, turning it off. The last thing she needed was to have it break down on her. She knew that if it did, the lab wouldn’t be able to replace it for some time - and they couldn’t continue their research without it.

She sighed, and walked back to her bench. Spraying it down with ethanol, she disinfected the surface as well as her tools, before peeling off the latex gloves on her hands.

_Strange_ , she thought. _It’s still glowing._

She returned to the machine’s side once more. Gingerly opening it, she took out her samples and the rotor. She could now see the source of the light more clearly. At the bottom, a strange opalescent fog swirled. For a moment, she thought it looked remarkably similar to the Breach in the Dragon Age games, then laughed at her foolish nerd-out. _Yeah right,_ she thought amusedly. Grabbing the cleaning cloth, she leaned in to wipe it away, making a mental note to ask David to take a look at it. He was the only one who could coax the machines back into compliance, and if anyone could make sense of this strange breakdown it would be him.

The moment her hand touched the fog she knew something was wrong. She felt her fingers become numb instantly, even as pain shot up her arm, leaving red scorch trails in its wake. She tried to jerk back, but whatever the fog was refused to let go of her, and instead began pulling her towards it. She struggled furiously against it, panicking, and shouted for help, belatedly realizing that she was alone in the lab.

The pain in her arm grew worse, the red marks turning black in a grotesquely beautiful design, and the light from the fog grew brighter and brighter till she had to squint against it. It bubbled over from the machine, enveloping her, and she felt sharp, stinging pain wherever it touched her bare skin. _What the fuck?_ She swore. _Is it acid? Some kind of sabotage?_ Sabotage sounded likely. The work their lab had been doing was touted to be groundbreaking in the field of medicine, and would go a long way towards healing more severe injuries. 

But it didn’t make sense. Acid fumes could not be contained in an instrument like the ultracentrifuge. And acid fumes certainly were not opalescent. She tried to make rational sense out of what was happening even as a large part of her mind gave over to unbridled terror.

There was a demanding, insistent pull, and a flash of blinding light, and she shut her eyes as she felt herself being lifted off her feet.

Suddenly, she was flung forcefully onto something jagged and hard, and she felt the breath forced out of her lungs. There was the distinctive sickening crunch of bones breaking, and the pain that blossomed within her chest had her vaguely theorizing it came from her ribs. Given how difficult it had become for her to breathe, she confirmed it was her ribs that had taken damage.

She rolled onto her back, a sharp cry of pain escaping her lips. 

_Get phone. Must call for help._ Gingerly, she moved her limbs, pleased to note that while they ached they were still capable of function. She took in as deep a breath as she could, preparing to sit up, only to be distracted by the scent of smoke and ashes.

_Smoke and ashes?_ That didn’t seem right…

She forced herself to focus through the pain and looked around.

She stifled a shocked gasp.

She was no longer in her lab. Gone were the sterile white walls, the wide lab tables, the myriad of expensive research equipment she was familiar with. She found herself in the midst of rubble, snowflakes and ashes falling gently on her and around her.

The cry of horror when she spotted the swirling, luminescent, opaline wormhole in the sky drew attention to her, but she was unaware. 

_This can’t be happening. Nope, not happening,_ she thought. _Just a dream… a very weird, strange, twisted dream. I must have fallen asleep in the lab again._

She forced herself to sit up, clenching her teeth as the pain increased. _Hell of a lucid dream_ , she thought. It was far too realistic. She’d never felt pain in her dreams before… _or dreamt with so much detail_ , she thought, uneasy. She squeezed her eyes shut as her vision blurred at the edges, desperate to remain conscious. She didn’t know why, but it felt important.

The sound of metal clanking drew her attention. She tried to call for help, but her throat would not work.

“What is going on… Maker, another one? Andraste preserve me, how many are there?

_Maker? Andraste? Why do they sound familiar?_

She felt the cold sharp edge of a blade under her chin, and her eyes flew open. Soldiers surrounded her, all of them looking at her warily. She blinked in confusion, aware of all the drawn swords aimed at her.

“Don’t move!” a voice called out in warning.

If she had the strength, she would have snorted. As if she could.

“Please,” her voice came out, a shadow of a whisper, “what is going on? Where am I? What happened?”

“This one looks funny,” she heard another voice say. “What is she wearing?”

_I feel rather funny, actually. Haven’t you ever seen a lab coat before? What a strange dream._

“Take her to the dungeons.” A voice, deep and strangely familiar, rumbled. “Seeker Pentaghast will decide what to do with her and the other one.”

Alarmed, she tried to speak up again. “What is-” her throat seized up, and her panic mounted.

One of the soldiers reached down and bound her wrists with rope, holding her tightly in place as she tried to struggle. She felt the rough fibres scrape against her skin, but she didn’t feel the pain.

They hauled her to her feet once she was bound, and she yelped in pain as they moved her. Her ribs throbbed madly inside her, and fresh, hot pain washed over her, and she gave in to the welcoming embrace of darkness.


	2. All That We See Or Seem Is But A Dream Within A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samarra isn't quite sure if she's having the most intense lucid dream of her life or not, or if she's just downright gone insane. Still, she decides to help out where she can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I know I said weekly updates, and I probably will stick to that, but the longer I keep this unposted the more I'll tinker with it, so here you go!]

Consciousness returned to her slowly and painfully, her mind a muddle of haphazard thoughts and scenes. The first thing she became aware of was how absolutely cold it was. Frowning, she shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, plucking at the cloth that covered her.

_Where’s my damn blanket_ , she cursed, reaching out an arm in exploration. Why was it so cold anyway? San Jose had been experiencing a mild summer, yes, but that couldn’t explain this level of cold…

She grumbled and opened her eyes when her hands failed to recover her warm comforter. And almost immediately wished she hadn’t.

She was still in the same dream.

Completely puzzled, she slowly sat up and examined her surroundings. She was in a cell, a dirty, grimy, smelly cell. _What the…?_ Through the bars, she could see another prisoner in the center of the dungeons - she was fairly positive she was in some sort of dungeon - who was restrained by menacing-looking solid iron handcuffs that were chained to the ground. _Someone’s clearly not taking any chances_.

“Hello?” Samarra called out hesitantly. The woman’s head swung towards her, fear etched on her features. “Where am I? What is going on?” she asked, clearly panicked.

She didn’t answer. She **couldn’t** answer. Her horrified gaze settled on the prisoner’s left hand, which glowed with an eerie green light.

_**The Anchor.** _

She laughed, and it sounded deranged in the silence. The other woman stared at her in concern, and it only served to add to her terrified mirth.

_Thedas. I’m in freaking Thedas._

Suddenly, it didn’t feel like a dream. The sensations were _too much_. The floor was too hard against her legs, the air too cold. The bars of her cell were too solid, smelled too much of metallic rust for them to be a dream.

She swallowed her panic and forced herself to calm down. _Hysterics will get you nowhere_. “I don’t know what is going on,” she heard herself answer. “I don’t remember anything,” she said.

“Neither do I!” the prisoner exclaimed, a note of relief in her voice. 

“My name is Samarra,” she said, plastering what she hoped was a pleasant smile on her face. _So. Huh. Apparently in this dream, English is Common. Interesting._ “And you are?”

“Helena,” the prisoner said. “Helena Trevelyan.”

She gave a start. Helena Trevelyan had been the Inquisitor in her most recent playthrough, a brutally efficient warrior she’d picked as a change instead of her usual preferred mage.

“Well, Helena,” she forced herself to sound somewhat jovial, “I’m pleased to meet you, even under these circumstances.” 

_How much of the story I created for her actually applies to her_ , Samarra wondered. She’d always created her characters carefully, with a great deal of thought going into their background and personality. 

_Wait. Why am I even accepting this? This isn’t real. This can’t be real. I’m just in the weirdest dream I’ve ever had, and I’ll probably wake up sometime soon to find myself in the lab._

_Are you kidding me? Even you know that it’s not normal to feel sensations or emotions in dreams._

_Who’s to say it isn’t possible?_ She argued with herself.

_What is it going to take to prove to yourself that this isn’t a dream?_ Huh. Good point. She was already in some amount of pain - even though it wasn’t as bad as it had been before - and her coat was stained with patches of what looked suspiciously like dried blood.

_You see? Pain and blood. This is no dream._

Before she could continue her argument with herself, the door was flung open and two women walked in. One looked like a warrior, with short, raven hair, a face made more attractive by the scars that were scattered through it. _Cassandra_ , she thought, her inner fangirl desperate to squeal in excitement. Which meant the other woman was definitely Leliana.

She gulped. Sister Nightingale in the flesh seemed a lot more intimidating than what the game portrayed, and Samarra understood why the woman was a spymaster extraordinaire. The woman oozed ruthlessness from every pore.

“Leave us,” Cassandra called out to the guards spread out through the dungeons, and with a bow, they departed.

Samarra found herself enjoying the Seeker’s accent. It was exactly like how she had sounded in the game. The Seeker herself was a stunning woman, her face clearly indicating an aristocratic background. _You can take the woman out of the nobility, but you can’t take the nobility out of the woman_. Her eyebrows were perfectly shaped, framing kohl-smudged hooded eyes of a warm brown. The scars on her face only added to her beauty, giving strength of character and lending uniqueness to her features. _Damn. I totally should have made a male Trevelyan to romance her_ , she thought, before coming to her senses when Cassandra began shouting.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill the both of you now,” she spat, her eyes fixed on Helena. Samarra found herself scrambling to her feet, her hands gripping the bars painfully tight. She knew what had happened. She knew what would happen. Hadn’t she played all the games, the DLC’s, devoured the books?

The rational part of her bid her keep quiet. She was not in control. She was not the Herald, the Inquisitor. Her interference could do more harm than good.

She remained silent as Cassandra berated Helena, as the poor woman tried to proclaim her innocence and the lack of knowledge as to how she came about the mark.

_You’re asking the wrong person about that_ , she thought with grim humor.

The walls of the dungeon shuddered, and Helena let out a pained cry. Samarra knew that the Breach had expanded, and that soon Cassandra would take Helena out, to test out Solas’ “theory”.

Suddenly, she was filled with doubt. She did not belong in this universe, there was no explanation, no reason to her existence. What would be her fate, if this was indeed reality and not a mere dream?

She watched warily as Cassandra approached her. “You!” she declared. “How do you explain the markings on your arm?”

Confused, she stared down at her left arm. Black whorls and curlicues covered the length of her hand, gleaming faintly in the darkness. Flabbergasted, she pulled up the sleeve of her lab coat, watching in horrified fascination as the pattern ran up the length of her arm. She stared at it in concern, tentatively using her right hand to prod the skin and the scars. It seemed to be neither tattoo nor scar. The pattern appeared as though it had been carved into her very skin, which didn’t make sense, although she remembered how much they had hurt when they first appeared.

The look of fear she gave the Seeker was genuine. “I have no idea,” she squeaked. Cassandra was not convinced, and only looked at her suspiciously. “I swear, I have no idea how they got there!” she pleaded.

After a discussion with the Seeker, Leliana left for the forward camp, giving Samarra a lingering, calculating gaze which chilled her to the bones - which was saying something, given her already semi-frozen state. _Fuck, she’s intimidating_ , Samarra thought with admiring respect. She would definitely have to be wary of the Nightingale. She watched as Cassandra freed Helena and herself, giving them a stern warning to stay close to her. 

Samarra knew why, recalling the angry faces of the villagers as her game character had made their way towards the first rift. _Looks like I have no choice but to go with them. Cassandra will probably have my head if I refuse._

Helena seemed completely shocked at the sight of the Breach. Samarra placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She felt strangely protective of the young woman - after all, in a weird, twisted way, she had created Helena - and vowed to help her out as much as she was able. “We’ll get through this,” she said, giving Helena a small smile. “We’ll figure it out.”

Cassandra gave them more information about the Breach, and it was all Samarra could do to keep herself from quoting the Seeker’s lines. _Cassandra, your voice is perfection. Would you ever read Swords & Shields to me?_

She was a total Dragon Age nut, after all. She knew most of their lines by heart.

As they trudged up the hill towards the rift, Samarra pondered her situation. _Right_ , she thought, _I’m stuck here in Thedas for the moment, apparently. And I’m about to walk into the first of several fights with demons_ \- she would **not** think about the Pride demon yet - _so I need to figure out how to defend myself. If I can get my hands on a bow, I won’t be entirely useless. Guess all those years of being ‘utterly boring’ and taking archery and horse riding lessons is going to pay off - suck on that, David! But what are the markings on my arm? Why do they feel funny? Why do I feel weird and tingly all over? Why the fuck am I even here? How the fuck is this possible?_

“There will be a trial. I can promise no more.” The Seeker’s words broke her reverie, and she began to pay attention to her surroundings. Everything was chaos. That much was clear. What had been portrayed in-game was a pale reflection of reality. Fear, despair and hopelessness swirled through the air, and she could feel the anger and fury radiating from villager and soldier alike each time she and Helena passed them. It was clear it that only Cassandra’s presence protected them against a furious mob. Shivering, she moved closer to the Seeker.

The Breach rained fade-touched rocks onto the ground, each a deadly missile that foreshadowed the arrival of demons. Samarra found herself sympathizing with demon and people alike. Spirits caught in the relentless pull of the rift, their very essence twisted as they passed through the Veil, their nature lost forever. The people caught in the crossfire, desperately trying to protect themselves against entities they had been taught to fear their whole lives.

For the first time ever, she understood Solas’ motivations to tear down the Veil. Even if she didn’t agree with how he intended to go about it, of course.

They came across the bridge Samarra knew would give way, and she placed a restraining hand on her companions arms. “Wait!” she called out urgently. Moments later, a fade-touched rock smashed into the bridge, shattering it, and flinging all those who stood on it into the air.

Cassandra gave her a questioning look. “How did you know?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.

“I… saw something. A vision.” She lied through her teeth, giving the older woman a wide-eyed, innocent look. The Seeker pursed her lips, but said nothing more.

They clambered down the debris onto the frozen lake. _Demon time_ , she thought, panicking a little, and looked around for weapons. Her gaze landed on a crate of weapons, _The game got this part right. That must have fallen from the bridge_ , even as she heard the demons behind her. Quickly grabbing a bow and quiver full of arrows, she grabbed a sword. “Will this work?” she called out to Helena, relieved as the other woman nodded yes. 

She remained at range as the other two women attacked the demons head on, pleased to find that her aim was true. It wasn’t the best bow by any means, the string needed to be tightened and the wood was too pliable for her liking, but it would suffice for the moment. _I wonder if I can get Harritt to make me a compound bow. I’ll have to work on the design._ For a moment, she wished she had her own with her. 

The demons vanquished, they pressed on, Helena and herself having argued with the Seeker for the right to retain their weapons. Samarra was quiet, more than a little shaken by their encounter. Even though she knew what would come, actually being in the thick of things was an an entirely different matter than directing through a screen. The demons weren’t as mindless as the game portrayed - they were filled with rage and a twisted purpose, their entire beings centered around a desire to kill, to slaughter. Facing down the shade was one of the most terrifying things she’d ever done - if not the most terrifying - and she forced herself not to think of the other demons that she would eventually have to face. The game underestimated just how much flesh and blood and goop a fight results in, she thought, wrinkling her nose in disgust as she tried to clean off the ichor and rotting tissue from her clothes and armor. She gave up when it was clear her ‘cleaning’ only caused the gore to spread out more. _I need a bath. Or ten,_ she shuddered.

Their second encounter went less than smoothly, with both Helena and Samarra finding themselves on the wrong end of a Shade’s claw attack.

_Note to self: don’t let the demons get close to you_ , she thought wryly as she chugged down the healing potion the Seeker had given her. It tasted like sweetened cilantro, and left an icy-hot sensation in its wake, similar to menthol. She watched, amazed, as her wounds stopped bleeding, and a protective scab covered the would. _So, it works by increasing the clotting properties of blood, but to completely heal the wound to ensure no scarring, magic must be needed_. She suspected it also caused the body to ramp up blood production. In the midst of battle, that would protect against the most common cause of death - blood loss. _Anything else would definitely require the services of a mage skilled in healing, then. I wonder how they treat internal injuries? Not to mention head injuries. I should look into that._

_Now is not the time_ , she chastised herself, as they got closer to the sound of fighting. She _squeed_ internally. She knew who they were going to meet, and was excited about meeting Varric. He’d always been one of her favorite characters.

The fight was brutal, and they were able to get rid of the demons quickly without taking any damage. She found herself staring at the look of concentration on Solas’ face as he directed the Anchor at the rift, something fluttering in her stomach at the intensity of it.

_Fuck, Samarra!_ She scolded herself. _He’s the cause of this mess! You know what he does! You know how dangerous he is! You must stay away!_

She listened to his explanation with a skeptical look on her face, which he noted. “You must be the other survivor,” he said, gazing at her curiously. She was suddenly glad her marked arm was hidden under her lab coat and the outer armor Cassandra had given her. From what she could sense from him, he seemed bewildered, frustrated and uncertain over her appearance… which meant he was not expecting her.

“I am,” she said shortly, forcing her face to remain expressionless.

The dwarf walked up to them. “Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.” Samarra fought to remain stoic, even though she wanted to jump up and down. The rogue dwarf was everything she thought he’d be, and more. There was a swagger about him, his very being forcing you to pay attention to him, even as his keen eyes took in everything in front of him and missed nothing. _He definitely looks more like his Inquisition counterpart than the DA2 version_ , she thought.

And yes. His chest was _magnificent_.

“Samarra Bayart,” she said politely. “Pleased to meet you, Varric.” _Please let me become bros with him. Can I do that? Can Varric, Hawke and I become the three musketeers? Please? Someone? Anyone? Lemme be your broski, Varric!_

Helena was more excited to see the acclaimed author, complimenting his crossbow - whereby Samarra had to bow her head to hide a grin.

“I am Solas, if there are to be introductions,” _he_ said, his words directed at Helena, but his gaze on her. “I am pleased you still live.”

She swallowed when his eyes met hers. The game been mistaken. He was tall, muscular, his build stronger and sturdier than the stick-like figures of the other elves she’d seen. The game had got him so, so wrong. She instantly understood why he’d favored his apostate hobo getup - it downplayed how different he was from the rest of his kind. _Rest of his kind. Don’t think he’d appreciate that_ , she thought, her mouth twitching with humor. His eyes were neither gray, nor blue, but a strange amalgamation of the two, and they were _hypnotic_. His head bore no stubble, but she knew instinctively that he wasn’t really bald. _Probably some sort of spell_. Intelligence was writ on his forehead, royalty in his high cheekbones and elegant nose. His lips were bow-shaped and plush, and his jaw… she’d always found his sharp jaw irresistible, but to see the strength in it, the mischief in his dimple on his chin… 

Something crackled in the air between them, and his forehead furrowed in surprise. He took a hesitant step towards her, and she waited for something with bated breath, her eyes wide.

The moment was broken when Varric spoke up, expounding that Solas had kept the mark from killing Helena… which meant that he had not had the opportunity to examine her. 

_What the hell is wrong with you? He’s the super-enemy, remember? He’s a big fat liar, remember? What was up with that?_

Samarra was inexplicably pleased that he hadn’t tended to her - it would mean that she would have the chance to see his reaction to the markings on her arm, to see if he recognized them or not. She was fairly sure Solas had something to do with her presence in Thedas, and she found herself glowering at him. 

“Did something I said offend you?” he asked, a frown appearing on his forehead. 

_Yes, everything you did up that lead to this, and everything you're going to do in the future._ “Hmmm?” Oh, no,” Samarra replied, trying to appear casual. “I was thinking of the Breach.” 

“It is a matter of concern, I agree. It must be closed as soon as possible. With your mark, Helena, I have every hope we will succeed.” 

They pressed on towards the forward camp, encountering a group of demons along the way. Solas frowned as he observed her with bow. “I had assumed you would be a mage,” he said. “Your aura is very distinctive. I have never encountered anything like it before.” 

“I’m a mage?” she gave a start. 

His frown deepened. “You were not aware? Have you not displayed any abilities?” 

“I do not remember,” she said cautiously. “When I saw the bow, I remembered how to use it.” 

He made a non-committal sound, his eyes piercing in their intensity. She refused to look away. _I’m not going to fall for those intimidation tactics, buddy_. Finally, he gave in, and turned his head. “Should we come out of this alive, you should look into training,” he stated. “It is better you are aware of your own power, and take the steps necessary to protect yourself and those around you.” 

“Let’s get through this first,” she said seriously. 

They met Leliana at the forward camp, and she found herself gritting her teeth in an effort to not punch Chancellor Roderick. Reminding herself that he would die, and rather painfully, got her through his rantings. 

“Justinia is dead! We must elect a replacement, and obey her orders on the matter!” 

She couldn’t help it. She laughed, long and hard, drawing his ire upon her. 

“You find the Divine’s death amusing, murderer?” he glared at her. 

She chuckled. “Not at all. And shut your fucking mouth, I’m not a murderer. I find it amusing that you think the best course of action is to spend an unknown amount of time to elect a replacement, and then waste even more time waiting for her orders. I mean, you’re standing under the Breach, demons pouring out by the minute, and the only plan your mind can think of is that? What an idiot,” she laughed. “Sure, who cares that people are dying, it’s _soooooo_ much more important to hold an election!” 

Varric guffawed. “You’re not afraid to speak your mind now, are you, Crimson? 

Okay, cue major internal freak out. _Did Varric just give me a nickname? Eeeeeee!!!_

She shrugged. “I call them as I see them.” she stated bluntly, ignoring Solas’ speculative look. 

Discomfited, Chancellor Roderick changed the topic, asking Cassandra to call a retreat. Samarra waited as the Left and Right Hands of the Divine laid out the two choices for Helena to make. 

“How do you think we should proceed?” the Seeker asked Helena, who looked towards her for guidance. 

“If I may?” Samarra asked politely. “I have had… a vision... that might help.” 

Cassandra nodded. 

“Tell the soldiers to fall back to a safe distance and maintain a defensive position. There is no need for them to charge. The rest of us should take the mountain path,” she said calmly, “and then wind back to the rift where the soldiers are.” 

“There’s a rift up ahead?” Cassandra gasped. “Should we not close it first?” 

Samarra shook her head no. “If the soldiers pull back, we can prevent further losses. I have seen the scouts in the mountain path. They live yet, but not for long.” 

Cassandra looked at Helena. “I agree,” the future Inquisitor said. “We need to minimize losses and save as many lives as we can.” 

She felt Leliana’s distrust, and Solas’ unease, and sighed internally. _I’m probably going to regret this._

The mountain pass was treacherous and icy, but they managed to save the scout troop and close a rift, so she’d consider that a success, even if the praise for it went to Helena. 

The more lives saved, the better, after all. 

They wound their way back to the point where the soldiers had fallen back, and caught her first glimpse of Cullen. 

_Damn, son._

Handsome was an understatement. The game hadn’t done him justice. Wavy blond hair that was slightly tousled, a sturdy jaw, a five o’clock shadow that should have been made illegal. His lips, fuck, with that badass scar… eyes the color of fine whiskey… she nearly swooned. 

_If he looked like this in-game,_ she thought, disgruntled, _I wouldn’t have romanced Solas so many times._

She listened, somewhat bored, as the conversation between the Commander and the Seeker played out, opting to spend her time instead contrasting the wolf and the lion, grumbling to herself when they both tied for ‘most attractive’. 

_Well, atleast until Dorian comes around_ , she smirked to herself, unaware that Solas was carefully observing her. 

The Temple of Sacred Ashes - or what remained of it - was horrific. Once upon a time, it would have been a gorgeous, intimidating structure, would have made an impressive sight. Now, it was but a shell of its former glory. Strong stone walls had been reduced to rubble, the remnants charred and blackened. The force of the explosion had scattered stone and rocks outwards. _It’s almost as if someone exploded several tonnes of dynamite here_ , she thought with a sickening twist in her stomach. The dead were scattered throughout, all of them in various stances of fear. The bodies were charred figures trapped in rigor mortis, burned and blackened beyond recognition. She gave a choked cry when she spotted what looked like a mother trying to protect her child. The utter carnage, the gore that met her caused her to gag and heave, and she ran to a corner to vomit. 

Someone handed her a waterskin, and she took it gratefully, drinking deeply. Once she had her fill, she found Solas standing by her, his eyes filled with concern. 

“Thank you,” she said hoarsely, and returned it to him. 

They soon found themselves under the Breach. “It’s a long way up,” Helen noted worriedly. “How am I supposed to get up there?” 

They regrouped with Leliana, and began discussing strategy. Samarra listened in, waiting for a suitable opening. When Solas mentioned that the rift was closed, but needed to be re-sealed, she jumped in. 

“There is a demon on the other side of the rift,” she said. “A demon of Pride. If we are not wary, it will crush us all. Someone should guard Helena’s back, it will target her the most. Let the archers remain on high ground. The soldiers can charge the demon, take some heat off Helena.” She turned to the blond woman. “My vision says you must use the mark on your hand to disrupt the rift in order weaken the demon’s guard,” she stated. 

Cassandra nodded, and directed the soldiers and archers accordingly. As they made their way down to the rift, she heard Corypheus’ voice boom out, saw the vision reflected from the Fade. She saw Helena in the vision, but her presence was nowhere to be seen. _Which means that I wasn’t anywhere near Coryphyshit. So why am I here at all? What purpose do I have? Where did I come from? What the fuck is going on?_ Her companions reacted to it with alarm, but she felt Solas’ gaze on her, and knew her lack of reaction would make him suspicious. _Not that he isn’t already. I’m sure he’s dying to know how I get my so-called ‘visions’. Bring it on, jerkface,_ she thought mutinously. _If you can keep secrets, you bet your sweet ass I can too._

They took up positions, and she noted with dismay the lack of mages. _Knock knock, calling on any magic inside me… if you’re there, now would be a great time to come out, ‘cause we sure as hell need another mage_. Kissing the back of her fist for luck, she found a semi-sheltered spot and settled there, her bow at the ready. 

Moments later, she found herself cursing the pride demon, Corypheus, Solas, Thedas, herself, and the fucking ultracentrifuge that had landed her in this position. She shot arrow after arrow at the demon, swearing as several of them bounced harmlessly off its armored skin. The fucking thing was massive - she’d expected it, but the sheer size of it had her wondering how her characters in-game had been able to take it down. _Motherfucker_ , she swore, rolling out of the way to dodge one of its electric blasts. _Goddammit. Blood and damnation. The fuck, Fen’harel? I swear if Solas turns into one of these beast demons down the line I’m going to be super pissed._

It wandered around the battlefield, using its electrified whips to stun and paralyze the soldiers after which it ripped them apart with its claws. After the third soldier fell, Samarra found herself frustrated - grief, regret and bitter self-recrimination would come later - and more than a little worried. If Helena fell to it, Corypheus would prevail… and she’d played In Hushed Whispers enough to know what that future held. 

She saw the demon approach Helena as she disrupted the rift in an effort to weaken it, and shouted a warning. It went unheeded, however, as the woman was too focused in her task, and Solas was busy defending himself against a Shade. 

_No, no, no, no_ she thought, panicked, as the demon drew forth its weapon. _Helena needs a barrier now!_ Suddenly, with a small jolt, she felt something slither down her arm. Following instinct, she flung her hand out. 

The demon’s whip bounced off an invisible barrier before they could reach Helena. Confused, she looked around to see Solas still battling the Shade. 

_Holy crap. I did that. I just cast a barrier. I have no idea how I did it, but I did it. I’m a mage. I’m actually a mage. I’m a fucking mage. I need someone to throw me a fucking party._

The rift surged around them, the Shades disintegrating in flashes of green. The pride demon was brought to its knees, and with a renewed surge of energy, they focused all their efforts on it. Soon it too was vanquished, and she watched, utterly exhausted, as Helena closed the Breach. 

The resulting shockwave threw her back several feet, causing her to crash against the stone hard. she closed her eyes and groaned. _This shit can’t be a dream, right? I hope I don’t have any broken bones._ She heard footsteps approaching. 

“You are still alive,” a familiar voice said. Solas. She let out a tired chuckle. “It appears so.” 

She felt herself being raised to a sitting position. “Can you stand?” he asked. 

“You’re joking, right?” she mumbled. “I can barely sit up on my own. Do I look like I can stand?” She heard him call for help, and felt strong arms slide under her knees and shoulders. She was lifted up carefully. She opened bleary eyes to focus on her protector. A soldier she did not recognize stared back down at her, murmuring soothingly to her. _He’s cute_ , she thought disjointedly. The shock and strain of her new circumstances overcame her and she gave in, drifting off to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts/comments/suggestion! *offers cookie as bribe*


	3. If You're Not Confused, You're Not Paying Attention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond had it easy. Coming up with a backstory is tricky business (not to mention pretty tough).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly (with bonus chapters every so now and then)

When she came to, she found herself lying on a cot in a hut. Someone had cleaned her up and changed her clothes, and she looked at the loose, flowy nightgown with no small amount of mortification. _Well, that's sooooo not embarrassing at all._ Her muscles were sore, but in an I’ve-overstrained-myself way, not actual pain. The faint tendrils of sunlight creeping over the horizon told her it was dawn. The sound of a body shifting alerted her to the fact that she was not alone, and when she sat up, she found Helena lying on a cot next to hers. The light of the Anchor glowed in the darkness of the room, and Samarra found herself itching to examine it closer. Inching forward carefully, she leaned over Helena’s body and focused on her hand.

The Anchor was an ugly gash on her palm, bleeding out light, and emitting a strange vibration that she understood to be magic. The skin around was black and blistered, and seemed to be in a constant state of tearing and rehealing itself.

It looked like it would hurt like a motherfucker. _Screw you, Solas, you dipshit_. Samarra wondered if there was anything she could do to help Helena with the Anchor.

She sat back on her cot, trying to make sense of her situation.

_So, let’s look at this rationally. This isn’t a dream. For some crazy, insane, as-yet-unknown reason, I was brought to Thedas. I have strange markings on your arm. I am apparently a mage - a very untrained mage. Not surprising, really, I mean, aren’t mages the equivalent of scientists in Thedas? Makes sense that a scientist would end up a mage, I guess. I know the events of the game, know how things will play out, know everybody’s secrets. Well, till Trespasser anyway. So my ‘visions’ are good for the next five years. After that… it’s a free-for-all._

_Right. So, clearly, the question is, what do I tell the others?_ Reminded of her clothes and the cell phone she always carried in her pocket, she looked around, panicked. There, on a chair in the corner of the room, she spotted her white lab coat, and moved quietly towards it. Her clothes had been washed and carefully folded, but her phone and headphones were missing.

She let out a sigh. She had a very good idea as to where it was… and who had it, and swore.

So, she needed a good cover story. She sifted through what she knew in her head rapidly. She needed a background that would suitable cover her ‘visions’ without drawing too much suspicion.

Rivain, she decided. She knew Rivain did not follow Andrastianism, and their mages were not trained in Circles. Indeed, if what she remembered was right, they were mostly hedge mages who communicated with spirits. _Perfect._

_Social standing in Rivain is marked by tattoos and body piercings,_ she recalled. Grinning, she thought of the four piercings on each ear she had, as well as the hoop in her nose. Combined with the tattoo on her arm, it would - should? - lend credence to her story.

Briefly, she pondered why she was so loathe to tell them about her actual origins. _Right,_ she thought, a sour look on her face, _the stupid, rotten egg. Asshole won’t hesitate to kill you if he thinks you’re a danger to his plans. And I’m sure the others won’t exactly be falling over themselves to believe you. Leliana might probably stick a dagger between your ribs if she thinks you’re a spy, or an assassin. And if she thinks you know how things will play out, she won’t hesitate to break a few bones or something to get you to spill the details. And if you do that, who’s to say things won’t change?_ Helena and her friends deserved the best outcome possible, and thanks to Trespasser, she wasn’t sure if they’d get it. They certainly did not deserve what Solas had planned… and neither did he, for that matter. He needed redemption, someone to talk him out of his stupidity, and Thedas needed a good shake-up, and _by golly_ she was going to give it to them. _Just call me Batman. Batgirl?_

Which lead to a myriad of problems, starting with magic. She had no idea how to control it, how to operate it, and how to protect herself against demons… and the only person who could teach her was Solas. Who was also the person most suspicious of her at the moment. She shifted uncomfortably. Was she really planning on matching wits with an ancient elven god? Was she really planning to deceive the deceiver, to trick the trickster?

“Do I even have ladyballs that large,” she muttered under her breath.

She would have to operate under the cover of amnesia, then. And never, ever, trust a word that came out of that elf’s mouth. Or at least try to verify his information with other sources. _Man, I cannot wait till Dorian gets here. Once he’s around, I can hang out with him._

_Let’s summarize_ , she thought. _You are a mage from Rivain, sent by your mentor-seer who sent you to the Conclave because of a vision she saw. You can’t remember how you fell out from a rift. You know how to wield a bow, but you have forgotten how to work your magic._

She sighed. Cullen and Cassandra would skewer her if they thought she could turn into an abomination… which, given how naive and untrained she was, was entirely possible. Leliana wouldn’t trust her in the least. As for Solas… she had no doubt he would hound her constantly both in the Fade and the waking world in an effort to break her. She shuddered. She might be able to handle herself awake, but the Fade was his realm, and she would be defenseless.

_Did I dream when I was asleep?_ She thought, panicked. _Did he see anything?_ She wracked her brain in an effort to recall any faint whispers of the remnants of dreams, but came up with nothing.

Maybe it was better they knew she was from another world? But if she told them that, they would become curious, would demand to know more. And in this _**very real**_ Thedas, outcomes were uncertain. The decisions were not hers to make. Any major interference in Helena’s path could significantly alter the results for the worse. And game mechanics were very different from real life, there was no such thing as “the hero always wins”, neither would there be saving and reloading in case of errors made.

Suddenly, the task ahead of her seemed monumental, almost impossible. 

So many probabilities. How much could she deviate from what she knew? If she tried to change anything, if she _did_ change anything, how much would it affect the outcome? Were all deaths pre-ordained, or could she afford to alter circumstances to reduce the number of people who died over the course of events? 

Changing the future was a dangerous game. _A small change in one state of a deterministic non-linear system can result in large differences in a later state._ Hadn’t that been drummed into her from day one of her research? Muck up the smallest condition in a procedure, mess up the entire outcome.

But would that apply towards the events of a video game?. As far as she remembered, the events of the game - the main quests - were all linear. Completing one opened up access to the next. It wouldn’t quite be the same in the real world, but it made some sense. 

She itched for pen and paper to jot down her thoughts. It would be easier to think when everything was laid out in an organized fashion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the eternal question of "if you mess with something you know, will it change everything else" is something that's bugged me while writing this. I'm not entirely convinced that just charging in and changing everything is the best way, but we'll have to see.
> 
> I had fun writing this chapter! It was fun delving into Samarra's thought process.
> 
> Comments, suggestions and feedback always welcome! I love reading your thoughts.


	4. Looks And Words May Be, And Oftentimes Are, False Witnesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A closer look at the Herald and her Oracle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly (and subject to author's whims and fancies, apparently)
> 
> So this was initially meant to be part of Chapter 3, but I kind of messed up. So here you go! Bonus chapter!

When the sunlight poured in through the windows, she was still no closer to a decision. She rose, and checked on Helena. _Pulse normal, pupils responsive - good, that means she’s not concussed - wounds have healed remarkably well - someone must have healed her. Probably Solas. Only bruises remain. I wonder why. Can magic not heal them?_ She was hale, but her body would need time to recover from the strain. After all, she was a non-mage who had channelled a great deal of magic. 

She took the time to really look at Helena. The young woman looked innocent in repose, her lips slightly parted as she breathed in and out. Her skin was lightly tanned, and she had a scar on the side of her nose. Her eyes were almond shaped and hooded, and her bottom lip was slightly larger than the top. Her ash brown hair reached her shoulders, and was threaded through with golden highlights, most likely from the sun. This close, Samarra could see the differences between the in-game Helena and the one on the bed. The real Helena had several silvery scars along her arms, probably from training or combat. Her nose was slightly out of joint, as though it had been broken once and never reset properly. Her skin was mostly unblemished, but there were a couple of acne scars along her jawline. Samarra grinned. _Probably from that special time of the month_ , she thought. She was a pretty woman, with a face filled with character, and Samarra hoped they would get along well. If what she suspected was true, Helena would be a kind, caring, open-minded individual, and she looked forward to getting to know more about her.

Letting her rest, she moved over to the makeshift vanity. A bucket of cold water stood on the side, with basket of clean clothes on the side. Grimacing, she pulled off her sweat-soaked gown - what was even up with that, Haven was freezing - and dipped a towel in the cold water, shivering when she wiped herself down with it. It wasn’t a bath, but it would suffice for the moment.

 _Man, I wish I could heat the water_ , she thought wistfully. But it was too risky to try, with Helena in the room. She would have to wait till someone… _Solas_ … agreed to teach her.

She hoped he would.

The clothes laid out for her were clearly not new, although they seemed well made and sturdy. The breeches were soft and supple, and to her surprise fit her remarkably well. The tunic was loose, but a belt cinched around her waist lent more definition to her figure. Lacking a comb, she used her fingers to detangle her long, thick hair as best as she could, pulling it into a fishtail braid and securing the ends with her elastic hairband, the tail of it falling below her breasts. She eyed herself critically in the mirror provided. She looked neat and presentable. Her flame-colored hair would attract attention, she thought wryly. It was distinctive even in her world, the rich, bright copper red drawing unwanted comments of “do the curtains match the drapes?” She sighed, remembering Iron Bull had a preference for redheads. She’d need to hold him off. 

She continued her survey. Her honey bronze skin complemented the color of her hair. Her face was smooth and unblemished - puberty had been kind to her - and the money her parents had spent at the dentist’s had paid off. Her parents had been very insistent that she take care of her looks. Her eyes were hazel, transitioning from green, to yellow, to warm amber. She’d been told countless times that while her hair color served as a beacon, her eyes were what drew people in. Her cheekbones were sharp and the envy of many women - and even some men, funnily enough. Her lips were lush and full, and she secretly delighted in the shape of them.

She put the mirror down, bitterness coating the roof of her mouth. Her looks had made it impossible for her to find a partner, someone to share her life with. Most of the men who tried to entice her had viewed her only as a trophy, a pretty trinket to hang off their arm, never as a person. _Oh Samarra, why would you want to waste your time going to med school? You’re so pretty, you could just marry a doctor. Darling, why bother working? Aren’t I enough for you? You don’t have to worry about money, sweetheart, smile for me and I’ll give you the world_. After having her heart broken several times, she’d given up and instead focused on her friends. 

_Fuck. They’re going to be so worried._ It struck her that she’d spent so much time trying to come up with a backstory, having taken for granted that she was going to stick it out in Thedas that she’d never even thought, not once, about trying to find a way home.

She walked slowly out of the hut, ignoring the glances directed at her. Despite the early hour, Haven was bustling, with people flitting about here and there. She crossed the tavern, a small smile on her face as she heard the sounds drifting from it. She recognized some landmarks, but the real Haven was definitely much bigger than the one in the game, and she soon found herself wandering around trying to orient herself to her surroundings. Finally, she caught sight of Seggritt, and stumbled somewhat gratefully in his direction, recalling that the gates of the village had been close to his location. She found the gates, and walked slowly out of the village. Ignoring the training ring and practice grounds for the moment - she’d definitely check them out later, she promised herself - she walked down the path that she remembered lead to the frozen lake. She soon found herself sitting on a crate by the unused docks, and stared up at the Breach. _Did I give up my chance to go back home?_ If it was the strange portal that brought her here, it made sense that it would be the one to send her back home.

“It has been closed, but not completely sealed,” a voice from behind her spoke up, startling her. 

“I imagine it would take a great deal of power to do so,” she mused. “I wonder how it was formed. The power required for that… I wonder how a single entity could hold so much.” She turned to face Solas, wanting to see his reaction to her statement. She wasn’t surprised to see his face remain in the usual polite mask she was used to seeing in the game, but she had enough knowledge about him to detect the momentary flicker of unease in his eyes. _Gotcha._

“I would agree with your theory,” he stated. “The Herald did not have enough power to fully seal it.”

She made a _hmmm_ sound.

“I did not get a chance to converse with you during our first meeting,” he commented. 

“It would have been difficult to sustain a conversation in the midst of battling demons,” she noted wryly.

He gave a small chuckle, and her eyes widened. _Did the grump just laugh?_ She looked away, not wanting him to see her reaction.

“You are Samarra, yes? The proclaimed Oracle of Andraste?” his face was neutral, but his eyes were sharp. _Careful, Samarra_. She didn’t have to fake the look of annoyance at his statement. “Oracle of Andraste? Oh, fuck no. Someone needs to cut that shit out.”

His eyes narrowed. “Seeker Pentaghast mentioned your vision saved her from a nasty accident,” he said smoothly, “and indeed, I was there when you mentioned the pride demon. It would appear that you possess some amount of foresight.”

She shrugged, and said nothing. She knew he was probing for information, trying to untangle her.

“Where are you from?” he asked, changing tactics. She thought carefully about her answer. 

“Rivain,” she replied evenly, inwardly grinning at the sharp look he gave her. Oh, he didn’t trust her. He didn’t trust her one bit.

_Well. This is certainly going to be interesting now, isn’t it wolf? Doesn't feel so good knowing someone other than you might have secrets now, does it?_

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said politely, “I’m going to go hunt down some food.”

“I would be happy to take you to the tavern,” he said, inclining his head gracefully.

_Wow. Okay, he’s clearly trying hard to find out what I know._

“I wouldn’t like to burden you,” she smiled, “I think I passed it on my way here. I’m sure I can find my way back. Thank you for the offer, though!” With a cheery wave, she walked away, grinning mischievously at the small, frustrated huff he let out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, suggestions, thoughts, cookies, kittens, puppies and rainbows all welcome! :D


	5. It Does Not Do To Dwell On Dreams And Forget To Live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly (ish?)
> 
> Italics indicates character's thoughts, unless indicated otherwise.

She had but stepped foot in the tavern when she realized she had no money with her. _D’oh!_ She smacked her forehead. _How could I forget?_ She sighed. _I guess I’ll have to talk to Josephine. Hopefully without Leliana seeing me?_

Somehow, she didn’t think that was possible.

She walked towards the Chantry, where she knew Josephine had her office. As she approached the main base for scout operations, she caught sight of Leliana - and Sister Nightingale caught sight of her. Now that she had time, she was able to really look at the spymaster. She was beautiful, her skin pale but not unhealthy-looking, her ginger hair cut short to her chin, her eyes a beautiful silvery grey. She’d always admired the woman’s nose, slender and elegant as it was. Her eyes were rimmed with kohl - it seemed to be something all women wore? - and there was something regal about her features. _She would have made an excellent bard_ , Samarra thought. _Beautiful, elegant, mysterious, dangerous… I pity the poor sod who underestimates her._

Her eyes narrowing, the spymaster beckoned Samarra over. _Fuck._ Schooling her features into what she hoped was a neutral expression, she walked over. “Good morning,” she said cheerily, pretending that Leliana was just a friend, and not a ruthless, potentially cold-blooded killer.

“Good morning,” she replied, her face still cold. “I hoped we might have a word.”

_Yeah, I’m pretty sure I know where this is going._

“You wish to know more about me, yes? Where I came from, what I can do? I am more than happy to tell you all that I remember, uhh.. Sister Leliana it was, wasn’t it? But do you think I could get some food in me first? I’m really hungry.”

_Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me._

The spymaster’s face turned puzzled, as though she hadn’t been expecting Samarra to be cooperative. “Of course. Talk to Josephine, she will make the necessary arrangements for you.”

“May I know who put out these clothes for me?” Samarra asked shyly, tugging at her tunic. “They’re very nice, and I would like to thank them.”

Leliana’s face softened. “That would be Josephine as well. You’ll find her in the Chantry, the door on the left at the end of the corridor.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile, sighing inwardly when the Nightingale once again narrowed her eyes at her. _Leliana, I’m on your side, I promise! You can trust me! I want to talk about shoes with you, woman._

She pushed open the heavy wooden doors to the Chantry - they were absolutely solid, how the fuck did people open and close them all day long? - she walked slowly down the corridor, relaxing in the peaceful atmosphere. She noticed that the Sisters gave her wide berth, muttering beneath their breaths about ‘the Oracle’. She sighed heavily. _Guess that’s going to stick around_ , she rolled her eyes.

She knocked on the door and waited. “Come in,” a pretty, elegant voice stated, and she swung the door open. _Yet another beautiful woman_ , Samarra thought wryly. _The Inquisition sure knows how to pick’em_. The bronze-skinned woman’s face was dusted with freckles, and the cutest mole dotted the side of her chin. Her eyes were wide and doe-eyed, a light hazel brown. Her ruffled dress, which Samarra hadn’t been a fan of in the game, actually suited her to perfection in real life.

“Can I help you?” Josephine asked, and Samarra flushed as she was caught staring.

“Pardon my intrusion, Lady Josephine,” she said with a small bow, “but I was hoping you might be able to tell me what I would need to do to avail myself some food?” She couldn’t help but be polite, Josephine had that aura that made it impossible for her to imagine anyone being rude to the Antivan.

“Oh! You are the Oracle! Forgive me for not recognizing you, my lady.”

“Please, call me Samarra,” she said with a warm smile.

“Yes of course, Lady Samarra. I have made arrangements at the tavern. They know who you are, please feel free to take your meals there.”

She frowned. “But I have no money, Lady Montilyet. Is there something I can do in return?”

The ambassador smiled. “I believe Sister Leliana, Seeker Cassandra and Commander Cullen are better suited to make that decision.”

_Interesting. They’re probably waiting for Helena to wake up, too._

“Thank you, my lady. For your help, and for these clothes.”

“It is Andraste’s will that we help others,” Josephine demurred. “One can only hope that generosity is remembered… and repaid.”

_Game, set, match to Josephine. Damn, woman._

With another small bow, she took her leave, waving to Leliana - _why the fuck did I do that, why do I keep pissing her off_ \- she walked into the tavern again. She decided to be mischievous. _Why not have some fun?_

“Flissa,” she called out, startling the poor barkeep so badly she dropped the plate she was holding. _Whoops. No mischief, then._ She rushed over and helped pick up the broken pieces, ignoring Flissa’s flustering words. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You’re… you’re the Oracle of Andraste,” the barkeep gasped out.

“I’m Samarra,” she corrected gently.

“Yes, your Notability,” she stammered out. Samarra sighed. “Please, call me Samarra. I insist.”

“Yes, Samarra,” Flissa said hesitantly. “You know of me?” she continued, an expression of anxiety on her face.

“I am glad to see you manage your own tavern at last,” she said with a smile. 

Flissa flushed. “It’s not very big or grand, but it’s nice to know it’s my own,” she mumbled.

“There’s no shame in that.” she gave the barkeep an understanding smile. “Now, do you think I could get some food?” Just then, her stomach rumbled, causing Flissa to laugh. “Yes, of course. The lady Josephine told me you would stop by for meals. If you’ll seat yourself, I’ll bring a plate out to you.”

“Thanks, Flissa.” She sat down at an empty table, trying to ignore the curious glances directed at her. The tavern was filled with soldiers, both men in uniform and recruits alike. She saw Varric sitting in a corner and raised a hand in greeting, grinning when he lifted his tankard in acknowledgement. Relaxing a little, she took everything in, filing away any interesting gossip, while keeping a watchful eye on the men who gave her lecherous looks.

_Welp. Guess I’m going to need a dagger to protect myself._

Flissa set down a plate of bread, cheese and boiled eggs down in front of her. The bread was freshly baked, and smelled amazing. The cheese made her think of Alistair - _dear, sweet Alistair, my cheese-loving cheese-mate_ \- and she grinned. 

She had an unhealthy love for cheese.

“Do you have any tea, Flissa?” she asked, relieved when the woman nodded. “I’ll have some, please.”

She took a bite of bread and cheese, stifling a moan as the flavor of the cheese burst upon her tongue. _Soooo goooood. All this shit is going to be worth it, as long as they keep supplying me with cheese I don’t care._

The door swung open, drawing her attention. Solas walked in, and she dropped her gaze. _Don’t sit at this table. Go sit with Varric. Not here._

He pulled out the chair opposite hers. _Fuck!_ She gave him a tight smile, and took another bite of bread to avoid talking to him.

“I hope you do not mind my company,’ he said coolly. _Whoo boy, I’m clearly the bone this dog isn’t letting go of. Heh. Dog._ She snickered, causing him to raise a brow. She lifted a finger, asking him to give her a moment. Swallowing the mouthful, she grinned at him. “Not at all. You’re free to sit where ever you want.”

Up went both his brows. “And the fact that I am an elf does not bother you?” She gave him a puzzled look. “Eh? What does that have to do with anything?” _Oh shit, yeah. I forgot. The whole ‘elves-are-second-class-citizens’ thing exists. Man, fuck the system. That shit is unacceptable._

His eyes narrowed. _Okay, people have really got to stop giving me that look. It’s getting really old really quickly._ “You seem to be unaware of the discrimination your kind has against elves.” _Did he just insult me? Whoa. Back off._

_He kind of has a point, you know. Humans are ridiculously racist. And just generally assholes._

_I don’t like his tone. And how dare he just lump me in with the rest? I told him I’m from Rivain. Everyone knows the they get along well with elves. ___

She quirked her brow. “My kind?”

He gave her a small sneer. “Humans.”

“Ah.” She popped a piece of cheese into her mouth, then leaned back in her chair to observe him. Under her gaze, he shifted the slightest bit in his chair. _Score one for me_ , she cheered. “Seems to me there’s a racist at this table, and it isn’t me,” she said coolly. “And I prefer not to associate with racists. If you’ll excuse me.” She rose, taking her plate in her hands, and walked over to where Varric was seated. “Mind if I join you, Master Tethras?”

“Please, call me Varric. It’s bad enough when Chuckles over there calls me that. The last thing I want is a pretty girl doing the same.” He grinned.

She laughed, and slid into a seat. “You know, I always thought that most of Tales of the Champion was exaggerated, but after seeing you and Bianca in action, I’m beginning to think otherwise.”

“Pretty and knows how to stroke a man’s ego? Crimson, I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”

“Crimson, eh? You going to explain that?”

“The hair. I mean, come on, don’t tell me you didn’t get it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Haven't you seen a redhead before? I mean, Sister Leliana's a redhead too.”

He snorted. “Not like yours, though. It’s almost like flame. Anyway, what did Chuckles do to get you in a snit?”

“He’s aggravating. Some shit about ‘my kind’, you know, accusing me of being racist while actually being racist, the prick.”

He chuckled. “I can tell this is going to be good. It’s going to be real interesting watching the two of you together.”

“Not if I can help it,” she muttered, and his chuckles turned to full-blown laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmmmm cheese... *drools*
> 
> I had to re-write this chapter. And others. Because for some reason, my laptop crashed, and took out the 90 pages of plot I had written for this story. I'm still not over it. /cries/
> 
> Suggestions, comments and thoughts welcome!


	6. The Best Lies About Me Are The Ones I Told

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly (but it's clearly up in the air now isn't it?)
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thoughts.
> 
> Disclaimer: the languages in this chapter were translated with the help of Google Translate. [I cannot emphasize that enough]. I apologize for any errors!

Samarra was trying really hard not to touch everything in the war room. Like, _really_ hard.

_Man, this war table is amazing. And we haven’t even gotten to Skyhold! Oh man, the one at Skyhold is going to be epic. I mean, even the game showed how epic it was, but to see it in real life?_

Thedas map? _Oooh I want to touch it. What is it made of? Can I stick little pins on it. Ooooh tokens! That’s what they use! Can I get one made for me?_ Gasp _I want one made for me!_

Josephine’s clipboard? _I wonder if she’ll let me touch it. I wonder how she can carry that thing around, it looks heavy. How does she keep the candle wax from dripping everywhere? And where does she keep the inkpot for her pen? It's not a quill pen though, I wonder what kind it is. It looks like an ink pen. Ohhhh there’s a holder on the side! That’s ingenious! But someone needs to invent a ball point pen. I wonder if Dagna can? That would be so cool!_

_Okay calm down Samarra, they’re talking to you. Focus!_

“Cassandra has told us about your visions,” Leliana said, suspiciously. “And I have informed the Commander and Lady Josephine about your help. We would like to know more about you.”

She gulped under the Nightingale’s intense stare. “First, I’d like to point out that I _helped_ you all out, even when I was under suspicion for causing the Breach.” Leliana glared at her. _Wrong start. Shit._

She dragged her hand down her face, and sighed. “Can I have a guarantee that what I tell you will not leave this room?”

“You would bargain with us?” Leliana demanded.

“For fuck’s sake, calm down,” she hissed. “I am here to **help**.”

Cullen cleared his throat. “I’m sure that we are all more than capable of keeping a confidence, Lady Samarra,” he answered, giving Leliana an even look.

“I am from a small village on the outskirts of Ayesleigh, in Rivain. I am an orphan, brought up by a woman who was one of the Seers of our village. She was feared and shunned because she had foresight… what you call visions. 

She taught me all she knew. She claimed she was from another world, a place where there was no magic. How true that is I do not know, but she said she was a healer in this other world, and taught me how to heal without the use of magic, among other things. 

Five months ago, she initiated me into foresight. I do not know what went wrong, but soon after that I began displaying magic abilities. None in my village would teach me how to wield and control them, so when my mentor heard of the Conclave, she bid I attend, in the hopes of finding a suitable mage mentor.”

Cullen and Cassandra were horrified. “An untrained mage! Maker, how are you not possessed?” the Commander exclaimed.

_Ahh. Fuck. Didn’t think this through, did I? Okay, what protects against possession… willpower, duh. But wait, don’t they use amulets to protect spirits against being bound? I can totally use that! What do I have?_ She remembered the cushion-cut sapphire and gold ring her parents had given her for her 21st birthday, to celebrate her graduation and entry into adulthood they’d said. 

She raised her right hand. “My mentor gave me this ring. She said it was from the other world, and would protect me from possession.” The two warriors looked warily at her ring, while Leliana stared at her, searching for any cracks or breaks in her expression to indicate she was lying.

After several moments of silence, during which she came close to shitting herself, they all nodded, satisfied.

“I noticed you wield a bow well,” Leliana asked casually. 

“Thank you. Our village hunter insisted I learn.” She gave them what she hoped was a sad smile. “He was the only one who would associate with me. The others were terrified of my mentor.”

Josephine spoke up briskly. “Do you have a way to contact her? I’m sure she would like to know you are alive and well.”

_Fuck. Shit. I really haven’t been as thorough as I should have been. Isn’t that like rule number one when it comes to creating a backstory out of thin air?_

“I… I’m afraid not.” She looked down, and blinked repeatedly, forcing tears into her eyes. When she looked up, all the others saw was a teary-eyed woman. “I received word from the hunter a few days before the Conclave. Without my presence to calm tensions, the village elders decided my mentor was a threat and… they executed her.” She let a tear roll down her cheek, and turned away, pretending to compose herself. _Man, can I act or can I act._

“My apologies for your loss, Lady Samarra,” Josephine said sympathetically, and the others murmured condolences. For a moment, Samarra felt really guilty. They were all good people, and didn’t deserve her deceit. _Have I done the right thing?_ she wondered.

“Thank you, my lady. Please know, I am here to help any way I can, but I need your help. My memory… there are spaces that are blank. Threads that have come loose. Please, help me put them back together.” _Well, that part’s true at least. I can’t remember much about how I got here, or why. And that niggling sensation in my brain… it’s like my brain is trying to tell me something but can’t get through. Maybe I’m just going insane..._

“Do you speak of the marks on your arm?” Cassandra asked.

“No, I have no idea where that came from, or what it signifies. I do not know my abilities. My mind tells me I can speak languages, but I do not know! I cannot remember!” she exclaimed in frustration. “It tells me I can fight, but how, I cannot say!”

“I know Orlesian, and Josephine speaks Antivan. Perhaps we can help,” Leliana suggested.

“Yes! Please, speak to me in Orlesian.”

“Comprends-tu ce que je dis?”

“Oui, je peux comprendre. Suis-je parler Orlesian?”

_That sounded French. So Orlais must be like France, then._

Leliana nodded, and Samarra sank her head into her hands. “See! I can understand the words, I can speak them, but I don’t know where they come from!”

“Let me try,” Josephine said. “Reisci a capire quello che sto dicendo?”

“Si, mia signora. Sto parlando Antivan?”

“Si.”

_That sounded Italian. Antiva must be the Thedosian equivalent of Italy._

“Fuck.” She saw Cullen hide a smile behind his gauntleted hands.

Leliana gave her a thoughtful look. “Can you say something in Rivainese?”

_Rivain. Umm... I guess it must be Spain, if Antiva is Italy. So Spanish should be Rivainese. I hope it is..._

“Hola, mi nombre es Samarra Bayart. Vengo de Rivain. Actualmente estoy hablando Rivainese.”

_How did I do that. I don’t know Spanish. I don’t know Italian. I don't know French What is going on. What the fuck is going on._

“Maker, that’s impressive,” Cassandra breathed. “Were you able to speak several languages before you got your mark?”

“I don’t know!” she rubbed her face. 

“Well, I am sure your affinity for languages will be very useful,” Leliana said, a hint of cunning in her voice. “Yes,” Josephine hurried to add, “it will be helpful during diplomatic talks.”

Samarra held out her hands. “Wait. I would be more than happy to help you, but I would much rather put my healing skills to use.”

“We have healers for that,” Leliana said dismissively.

“Not like me,” she argued. “I can promise you that I will be able to do a world of good if you let me work. I have been taught well. My mentor, however eccentric she was, was vastly knowledgeable in the healing arts. She taught me how to reduce infection, how to treat wounds that might otherwise be fatal, and how to reduce odour and vermin. I am good. I am very good,” she said confidently. _Listen to me, people. I spent eight fucking years working to get my M.D/Ph.D. I’ve spent a good amount of time with patients. My lab was considered one of the most sterile. I’ve worked in BSL-4 labs, for heaven’s sake! I’m probably the best non-magic healer you’ll have access to. TAKE MY HELP DAMMIT._

The advisors exchanged looks, and she held her breath. “Very well,” Cassandra conceded. “You may aid the healers, as long as you agree to receive training from Solas.”

“Thank you,” she replied with a small bow. “I will talk to him as soon as this meeting is over.”

“You can go talk to him now,” Leliana said. “Come, I will walk with you.”

_When you put it like that, I can’t exactly refuse now can I?_

They walked shoulder to shoulder in silence. Once they were out of the Chantry, Leliana spoke up. “There was a strange metallic object on your person when we found you. What was it?”

Samarra made sure she looked straight into the spymaster’s eyes before replying. “It is what lead me to believe my mentor was not of this world. She called it a cell phone. I have not yet been able to figure out how it works.”

Leliana scanned her face closely. Satisfied, she nodded. “He says it is not a magical artifact, and has not been able to unlock it either. He mentioned it was not harmful.”

“It’s not.”

“We will only truly know once we figure out its function. You may retrieve it from Solas. Keep working on it, and should you discover how it works, inform me at once.” There was a warning in the statement, and Samarra nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“I will take my leave. Go ahead and talk to Solas. If need be, you may inform him that we have requested that he trains you,” she said, a twinkle in her eye.

_Guess someone told her about the scene in the tavern. Should’ve expected it._

She gave the Nightingale a wry smile. “You heard about the scene in the tavern, huh?”

Leliana smiled, and it wasn’t a pleasant one. “I have eyes and ears everywhere, Samarra.”

_Yikes. Okay, that was a warning, loud and clear. Duly noted, ma’am!_

She nodded, and watched the spymaster walk silently away.

_Well, let’s get the humiliation out of the way then_. She had no doubt the apostate elf would have several snarky remarks for her. Taking a deep breath, she walked up to the small hut he shared with Varric and knocked on the door. “Solas?” she called out.

“Come in,” he said. She entered. He carefully closed the book he was reading, and turned to face her. “How may I help you?” he asked politely.

“I would really appreciate it if you would help me with my magic. As I informed the others, my magic only surfaced recently after a… a certain ritual, and I was sent to the Conclave in the hope of finding a mentor who could help me master it. With all the chaos, it’s imperative that I learn how to control it.”

He narrowed his eyes. _There’s that bloody look again. I swear, at this rate I’m going to start wearing a nug on my head if it stops getting me those looks._ “You have regained some of your memory, then?” he inquired smoothly.

“Yes. Some of it. I still have a few blanks. I don’t know how I received these marks-” she said, rolling up her sleeve to show him her tattooed left hand, observing his face closely, “they don’t hurt, but they cover my entire arm.”

His grip on the armrest of his chair tightened till his knuckles turned white. For the shortest moment, his eyes were filled with utter shock which gave way to excitement and… covetousness? Then they became guarded. 

She was confused. Clearly, he didn’t have anything to do with the marks. But he knew what they meant. “Any idea what they are supposed to mean?”

He reached out to take her arm, hesitating before actually touching her. “May I?” he asked, and she nodded. He slowly took her hand, gently running his fingers over the length of it. “I have not seen such markings in my travels in the Fade,” he said slowly. “I can look into the matter, if you would like.”

_But I bet you’ve seen them in person, haven’t you? What a slick, evasive answer._

“No, it’s fine. I think Helena needs your help more, what with her hand bearing powerful magic and all. _I’m not going to let you take her arm, you lying, cheating heartbreaker._ But you’ll help me with learning magic, right?”

“Yes,” he said, a little too eagerly. “I would be happy to.”

“Great! When do we start?”

“Now is as good a time as any.”

“I suppose so,” she said doubtfully. “Oh! Before I forget. Leliana mentioned you had the metal rectangle found on my person? I’d like it back, please.”

“Ah, yes. It is an interesting object. I was unable to figure out how it works; perhaps you could show me?” he said casually, opening the drawer of his desk. He handed it to her carefully. 

“Thanks. I would show you how it worked if I knew. I’ve been trying to decode it myself.”

The look on his face told her he clearly did not believe her, but to her relief, he dropped the matter. “It is almost time for the midday meal; perhaps we can commence your studies after?”

“That works for me. Oh! One last thing. Do you know where the library is? I meant to ask Josephine, but I forgot.”

“It is in the basement of the Chantry, but I can tell you now I have brought to my room the books worth reading,” he said with a small smile. “You are welcome to take whatever you like from here.”

“Thanks. I’ll stop by after practice.” She made to leave, but stopped when he called her name. “Samarra?” She looked at him over her shoulder, puzzled. “I apologize for my thoughtless words in the tavern. I should not have been so quick to conclude that you were like other humans… my experiences with them have usually not been very… positive.”

She sighed. His face was neutral, but his eyes… something in them tugged at her. “It’s okay. I forgive you. Don’t do it again, okay? Just because the assholes you’ve met were human doesn’t mean every human you meet is an asshole.”

He chuckled. “You have quite the indelicate vocabulary, _da’lan_.”

She shrugged. “In my experience, if you talk like most people, most people will consider you one of their own. The nobles tend to underestimate you. In my book, both of those are good things.” With that, she walked out, flashing him the ‘deuces’ sign.

_I bet I just blew your suspicion meter off the roof, didn’t I? Chew on that, wolf. I guess my “my mentor taught me this” explanation is going to be used just as much as your “i saw it in the fade” explanation. Should be fun!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> ["Orlesian"/French]
> 
> Comprends-tu ce que je dis? - Do you understand what I'm saying?
> 
> Oui, je peux comprendre. Suis-je parler Orlesian? - Yes, I can understand. Am I speaking Orlesian?
> 
> ["Antivan"/Italian]
> 
> Riesci a capire quello che sto dicendo? - Can you understand what I'm saying?
> 
> Si, mia signora. Sto parlando Antivan? - Yes, my lady. I'm speaking Italian?
> 
> ["Rivainese"/Spanish]
> 
> Hola, mi nombre es Samarra Bayart. Vengo de Rivain. Actualmente estoy hablando Rivainese - Hello, my name is Samarra Bayart. I come from Rivain. I'm currently talking Rivainese.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I was sick and in bed all day, so of course I spent a good chunk of time writing this, ha.
> 
> Lots of disclaimers for this chapter! One, I'm not an MD/PhD so I'm not completely sure how the program works. Why MD/PhD for my OC? Because I thought that was the combination that would best explain her 'inquisitive healer' nature. Two, languages. I know French, but the other two I'm winging it using Google Translate, so again, if there are any mistakes I'm sorry! Third, just to clear things up, OC is not based on me. Some things here and there might be, but mostly not.
> 
> That... that feels like everything. Once again, comments, suggestions and feedback welcome!


	7. Any Fool Can Know, The Point Is To Understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All about magic - theories and discussions and practical applications, oh my!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: "Weekly" (the quotes are important)
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thoughts.
> 
> Elven translations from Project Elvhen by FenxShiral. [Apologies for any errors, translation is so not my forte!]

She stared at him dubiously. “You want me to do what now?”

He sighed. “I want you to meditate, _da’lan_.”

“ _Ame tel’da’lan_!” 

He stared at her in shock. “You… you can speak elvhen?”

_Wait, what? I can speak elven too? What the hell? It certainly didn’t sound elven to me?_

He noted the look of panic on her face. “I assume that either this comes as a surprise to you, or you did not wish me to know about your affinity for my language,” he spoke evenly, but his tone was hard.

“I can speak languages,” she panicked, “that I have no memory of learning. I don’t know how I know, I just do! How? _Why_?” She started to hyperventilate. It was bad enough knowing that she was physically present in a world that was only supposed to be fictional and imaginary. To know that her brain had been altered… _Am I still me? Am I still Samarra? Do I have someone else’s memories? What’s going on? How do I go from speaking only english to speaking multiple languages? One of which isn’t even a real language on Earth! How is this happening?_

She sank to her knees, frustrated and terrified, even as a part of her hated that she was showing weakness in front of the man she considered her foe. Said foe was rubbing her back soothingly, murmuring into her ear. “ _Sha, sha, da’lan, te’telsilathe, garahnen neal’on_.” Her throat closed up as she registered the words. _I’m not supposed to understand them. Why can I understand him?_

“I know this troubles you, but you cannot afford to waste time panicking,” he said, a little sternly. 

_He’s right. He’s right. I should just accept it for now, and figure things out at my own time_. Slowly, her breathing returned to normal. “You’re right,” she said once she felt normal again. “There are more important matters.”

He patted her shoulder kindly, a look of understanding on his face. _Stop looking at me like that! You’re supposed to be bad. Glare at me! Sneer at me! Aren’t you supposed to be condescending?_

“Now then,” he said. “Shall we continue with our practice?”

“Right,” she huffed. “How am I supposed to meditate?”

“Seat yourself in a position comfortable to you. Close your eyes, and focus on yourself. Reach into yourself. Search for an awareness of the Fade.”

She frowned. “How is the Fade supposed to feel like?”

“You’ll know when you feel it,” he said.

“Could you _be_ any more ambiguous?” she said. _Gotta channel some Chandler Bing up in here._

He smiled condescendingly at her. _Ding ding ding there we go! That’s more like you, Solas_. “You will understand when you try.”

Grumbling, she crossed her legs, Indian-style, and sat with her spine upright. Placing her hands, palm-down, on her knees, she shut her eyes and took in a deep breath.

At first, she felt nothing but the cold nip of the wind as it hit her face and ears. _Right, I need to reach inside me. What am I even reaching for? I’m not like Fenris, I can’t reach into someone and just pull out their heart or whatever. Am I supposed to pull out a metaphorical heart? Is magic symbolised by a metaphorical heart? Why heart, and not lungs or kidneys? Okay, Samarra, stop this nonsense. Think of how cool it’s going to be when you have magic! I mean yes you have magic, but I mean, magic you can control! Like, flame-hands! Or electricity! Ooh yes, electricity. Maybe I can use my electric powers to recharge my phone. Can I? That would be awesome. Especially since I have all those medical textbooks on my phone. Stop with the monkey mind! Focus. Okay, deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Think of how it felt when you cast that barrier. It was pretty tingly. Was that the Fade?_

She opened her eyes to find Solas looking expectantly at her. “Did you feel anything?” he asked.

“Nothing at all,” she replied glumly. “I know I cast a barrier during the fight against the demon. I don’t know how I did it. I tried to remember that feeling, but it didn’t seem to help.”

“Hmmm.” He looked thoughtful, and walked away from her as though lost in thought. Suddenly, without warning, he spun around, aiming a fireball at her. She let out a startled cry, and instinctively brought up her hands to protect her face. It hit her forearms, and she yelped in pain. “Fuck, Solas!” she swore at him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She sank the burned part of her flesh into the snow, hissing in pain.

“Forgive me,” he said apologetically. “I thought that an attack would force your magic to come out in defense.”

She looked at him sardonically. “Sound in theory; didn’t work so well in practice.”

He knelt next to her. “Allow me,” he said, taking her arms gently. A soft blue glow surrounded his hands, and she watched, utterly fascinated, as the damaged tissue beneath her skin was restored back to health. _Second degree burn_ , she thought. _Looks like the damage was restricted to the papillary dermis. The healing seems to rejuvenate damaged cells, restoring their function, in addition to repairing damaged connective tissue and collagen and elastic fibres. Is it basically accelerating the body’s natural healing response? How would the healing magic cope with more severe injuries?_

Without thinking, she spoke up. “How would the healing magic work on more severe injuries?” she asked curiously. He didn’t look at her, focused in repairing her skin. “The same as what I am doing, except it would require more of the healer’s mana. Novice mages, or those lacking healing skills, would be able to restore the wound to a point where non-mage healers can take over. Knowledgeable mages would be able to heal the wound, although a scar would remain. Only the those specialized in healing, and spirit healers, are able to completely heal truly severe wounds. They can restore to normal a person on the brink of death, although it is beyond even them to bring a body back from the dead.” He looked at her then, and smiled. “All done. My apologies for causing you pain.”

She examined her arms closely, and marveled. Not a trace remained of the injury, not even a lingering redness. The skin was exactly how it had been before the injury - actually, slightly better, because the scar that she’d received when she first began her archery lessons was nowhere to be seen. “It’s amazing,” she breathed. “Absolutely marvelous.”

He had a smug look on his face. “My healing skills are hardly mediocre,” he scoffed. She ignored it.

“How do you feel, when you channel magic?” she asked eagerly.

He frowned. “To me, it is as natural as the beating of my heart. I do have to think about it, it just is. Think of it like breathing - you do it all the time, automatically, do you not? That is how magic should feel.”

“Fine, but how does it work? I mean, do you think of fire to make it appear? Or do you have to use your energy - sorry, your mana - to force it to appear?”

He smiled indulgently at her eagerness. “Magic is fuelled by mana, yes. Every mage is born with a base amount of magic. Mana can be considered the measure of a mage’s connection to the Fade, as well as their ability to manipulate it. The greater the connection to the Fade, the less of your own mana you require to fuel a spell.”

“So if you’re born with little affinity to magic, you’re doomed?”

“Not quite. There are ways a mage can increase their connection to the Fade.”

“You mean, like becoming possessed by a demon from the Fade?”

His mouth soured. “When a mage draws power from the Fade, they attract the attention of the spirits on the other side of the Veil, and yes, a great deal of willpower is required to remain vigilant and prevent possession. It is true that allowing one’s self to become possessed greatly increases a mage’s power. But it is not the only way. Training, practice, focus and dedication to the craft go a great deal in allowing a mage to improve his or her abilities. Magic is very much like military training - the more you practice, the better you become.”

“So, basically, mana fuels magic. Does that mean if you run out of mana, you can’t do any more magic? Can you accidentally kill yourself by using too much mana? Does that mean a mage’s mana is their life force?”

He chuckled. “So many questions. Yes, mana fuels magic. Yes, if a mage is drained of mana, they can no longer cast spells. It is one of the ways a templar subdues a mage, by draining them of mana. Life force is not the same as mana, although they are closely related, and it is possible for a reckless mage to overstrain themselves and accidentally expend their own life force when they have run out of mana.”

“But how does magic work!?!”

“You know of the Fade, yes?” She nodded. “Just as the Fade can be reshaped by those who have grasped its nature, so can the world of Thedas be manipulated by magic by willing things into being.”

“You’re telling me that I can just will, say, an animal, or a building, or food into becoming real?”

“If you had enough mana, and were able to channel enough power from the Fade, it would be possible, yes.”

She gaped at him. “So what’s stopping mages from coming together and creating stuff?”

His face hardened. “Most mages are locked away in Towers once their powers manifest. The common folk fear the mages, so they are kept away from the rest of the population, and treated as prisoners.” He gave her a curious look. “Surely you know this.”

“Well, I know about Circles,” she admitted, “but - and this is only hypothetical -” she looked around her, warily, and lowered her voice, “if everyone in a Circle said, ‘fuck this’, what was to stop them from combining their magic and, you know, escaping?”

“That is how the Circles fell in the end, and how the war began. You forget that the Circles were monitored by the templars. There were many templars to guard a Circle - more templars than mages, even.”

“The war could have been prevented if everyone thought more like Rivain does,” she said decisively. _Might as well start selling it._

“Sister Leliana informed me of your… unique… circumstances. You are quite social, for someone who was kept so isolated.” he said skeptically.

“I know, right?” she flashed him a bright smile. “Call me resilient.” _Did you think that’s going to get me to trip? Nope. I’m going to make it my goal to be as evasive as you are, my dear wolf._

He frowned. “The light is fading,” he said. “If you wish, we can study the theoretical aspects of magic in the Fade.”

She shrugged. “Sure, if I can navigate my way and find you.” _No point in telling him I have no idea how the Fade works… especially since I want to avoid him. I’ll try to figure it out for myself. I can always ask him if I fail, right?_

He quirked a brow. “Do you know how to cast wards to protect yourself in the Fade, _da’lan_?”

She gave him a _you can’t be serious_ look. He chuckled. “Very well, I will ward your room tonight. Once you have brought out your magic, I will show you how to cast them yourself.”

“Thank you,” she smiled gratefully at him. 

They walked back into the village together, but once inside they parted ways. Samarra wanted to check in on the patients, and headed towards the healer’s tent. She saw Adan outside, giving instructions to a runner in the gruff manner she was familiar with.

“Hello,” she said politely. “My name is Samarra. I come to offer my services as a doc-uhh, healer.”

Adan grunted. “Adan. The Seeker told me you’d come by. You got any experience with patients?”

_Oh, you have no idea, you sweet little child_. “Yes. My mentor taught me the ways of healing.”

“Good. I’ve been trying to run the show, but I’m no mother hen to coddle them. You can take over. Keep an eye out for Giles and Everna, they’re the two young’uns who’ve volunteered to help.”

“What kind of injuries am I to expect?”

“Mainly shock. Many of them have cuts and scrapes, there are a few in that tent over there-” he jerked his thumb to indicate his left, “that I don’t have much hope for. We got no supplies, no mages to help us other than the apostate, and he’s been doing all he can.”

“What supplies do we have?”

“A few bandages, a few healing potions. I’ve been trying to keep up with the demand for healing potions - the refugees keep pouring into Haven - but I don’t have much elfroot, and I can’t afford that snake Seggritt’s prices.”

“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll hunt for elfroot when I have some free time.”

He stared at her. “You do that, I’ll knock up the potions.”

She entered the tent that housed the more serious injuries. There were four of them there, all unconscious, and she frowned. That wasn’t a good sign. She examined the first patient, a deep furrow settling into her forehead as she did so. _Dilation of both left and right eyes. Patient shows signs of emesis. Cerebrospinal fluid rhinorrhea indicates breach in dura. Flushed face suggests fever._ She placed a hand on his forehead, then raised his arm to check under his armpit, trying not to wince as her hand came into contact with the dampness there. _Definitely has fever, indicating infection, possibly bacterial?_ She sighed and took a step backwards. Without access to modern equipment, she wasn’t sure if she could do anything for the poor soul.

_I still have to try, though._ She quickly examined the other three, relieved to see they were in better condition than John Doe, as she decided to call him. They were sleeping, their breathing regular and even, and the lack of dilated pupils suggested that while they had received injuries to the head, they had, at worst, concussions. The lacerations on their head that they’d received seemed to be healing slowly, although one of them had a slight swelling around the wound she was slightly nervous about.

_I need Solas_ , she thought. He was the only one who could possibly help her out with John Doe. She rushed across the village to his room, knocking on his door. He opened it, concerned when he saw her panting. “What is the matter? Did something happen to you?”

She shook her head. “Need… your help…” she gasped out, “with… a patient.”

He readily shut the door behind him. “Come, you can tell me the details on the way there,” he said, grasping her elbow and walking with her. 

“One of the men has a brain injury,” she began to explain.

“Ah.” A pained expression washed over his face. “Sedrick. He was knocked back by the explosion. I fear he will not survive. If you wish to treat him, you are wasting your time.”

She glared at him, and he sighed. “It is not a bad thing to recognize when someone is beyond your help,” he said gently. “Such is life.”

“I’m not going to sit around and wait for him to die,” she said icily. “He has a brain injury, and despite that has survived for several days. That in itself is almost miraculous.”

“Very well,” he said, as though humoring her. “Lead the way.”

She brought him to John Doe’s - no, Sedrick, she reminded herself - bedside. “See the clear fluid draining from his nose? That tells me there is a tear somewhere in his brain, around this area. If you can heal it, I will have him seated upright to drain the excess fluid from his brain.”

“How do you know he has excess fluid in his brain?” Solas asked curiously.

She gently raised Sedrick’s eyelids. “His pupils are dilated,” she explained. “That happens if there is excess pressure in the part of the brain that is responsible for sight. By draining the fluid, we can reduce the pressure, and if everything goes well, he will regain his sight.” _Hopefully. Oh please, let everything go well._

“How do you know all this?” he gave her a suspicious look.

She shrugged. “My mentor taught me,” 

Still looking at her suspiciously, he placed his hand over the patient’s face, and in a moment a blue glow covered the area. 

_We should have washed our hands,_ she thought, dismayed. _Oh well. Given the state he’s in… how much of a difference would it have made?_

Solas took his hand away. “The injury has been repaired. It was exactly where you said it would be. What should we do now? She was already stuffing an empty sack with clean hay. “I’m going to use this to seat him upright,” she explained. Huffing, she dragged it over to the bed. “Help me, will you?” Solas grasped the patient’s shoulders and raised him upright. With a grunt, she lifted the sack onto the cot, covering it with the sheet as best as she could. “Place him down, gently,” she directed.

“What will you do next?” he was curious. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “He has a fever. I’ll use some cold water to try and bring it down a little.”

“Would you mind if I stayed behind to observe your methods?” he inquired.

She flushed. “Do as you wish. But now that I have you here, would you mind taking a look at this woman? She’s had a head wound that someone has tried to treat with a healing potion, but there is some swelling that worries me.”

“What do you think is causing it?” he asked.

“I suspect there is a small clot inside one of the blood vessels around the wound. If you can dissolve it, it would allow recirculation, and the swelling will decrease.”

“Recirculation?” he quirked his brow at her.

She huffed. “I will explain later. Can you please treat her?”

“As you wish.” He did his magic-glowy-hands trick once more, and turned to face her when he was done, looking impressed. “There was indeed a clot. I am impressed at your knowledge, _da’lan_. You said your mentor had taught you?”

_I have to sell this as best as I can_. “Yes,” she said. She checked on the others, and made a mental note to ask Josephine for a journal and some writing instrument so she could keep a track of their progress.

“She must have been a wise woman, indeed,” he pushed smoothly.

_Time to act. Curtains up, ladies and gentlemen._ She gave a short bark of laughter. “I certainly thought so, although the rest of my village would beg to disagree. You see, the others considered her… touched in the head.”

“Curious, indeed.”

“Ehhh. She claimed she was from another world entirely. She claimed her body has been switched? Something about her actual body was in some place called Earth.” She gave him a wry look. “You can understand why the others thought she was crazy.”

“Did they not worry about her bringing you up?” he asked.

“I believe they did, at first. They stopped when she predicted that Akira’s son would die of poisoning. Considering he was but ten years old, they laughed at her and took me away. He died two days later. Poisoned by his aunt, who was childless and was jealous of her sister. They returned me to her the same evening, and shunned us both from that day forth.”

“That makes no sense. If your mentor could see the future, surely they would heed her counsel?”

“They thought she was cursed. They said, if she spoke your name, you were cursed.”

He raised his eyebrows. “She must have spoken your name, and yet you are not cursed.”

She laughed. “Who is to say whether I am or not? I find myself with breaks in my memory, with abilities I do not understand how I came about, with strange markings on my arm. Perhaps I am cursed.”

“Will you join me for supper?” he asked. “I would welcome a chance to make up for my grievous behavior at breakfast. And I admit I am most curious about learning more of your past, Samarra.” he said.

Hearing him say her name shook her. “Perhaps some other time,” she said, forcing a smile on her face. “I have a patient to take care of. But thank you for the offer.” She quickly walked away, leaving a confused - and still suspicious - elf behind.

_That’s it. No more talking about your past. The next time anyone asks, just tell them it brings back painful memories and you would rather not talk about it._

_This charade is going to be incredibly difficult to pull off, you know. You’re going to have to tell them the truth at some point of time._

_Do I? Should I?_

_It’s understandable why you’re lying to them now, because they don’t trust you. But what happens in the future? What happens if they become your friends? Would you keep lying to your friends?_

_Look, you pain in the ass, we’ll cross that hurdle later._

_If I’m a pain in the ass, so are you. I am your inner voice, after all._

_Fuck you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
>  _Ame tel'da'lan!_ \- I'm not a child!  
>  _Sha, sha, da’lan, te’telsilathe, garahnen neal’on._ \- Hush, hush, little one, don't worry, everything will be fine.
> 
> I so enjoy writing discussion scenes between Solas and Samarra. It's kind of surprising how much research I have to do before, so that everything makes some kind of sense. I like it when things make some kind of sense.
> 
> Comments, thoughts and suggestions welcome! *offers egg in exchange*


	8. There's No Limit To How Complicated Things Can Get, On Account Of One Thing Always Leading To Another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: ????
> 
> **POV Solas**

Everything seemed to be coming apart.

It seemed as though none of his plans were fated to run the course he wished them to. First, his plan to have the ancient magister unlock his orb had gone terribly, terribly wrong. The lives of hundreds of innocent souls was another burden he had been forced to add to his bag.

He’d watched, horrified, as the Veil had been ripped apart inelegantly, as the spirits of the Fade were forcibly pulled through, the strangeness of reality causing them to turn into demons. When he’d heard about the survivor bearing a strange mark, he’d immediately volunteered his services, using all of his persuasive powers to convince the Seeker and Sister Nightingale that he was not a threat.

Examining the survivor had done nothing. He had been unable to remove the mark from her hand, and worse, had been forced to watch it kill her slowly. 

As if that wasn’t bad enough, the next day they’d dragged another survivor in, only they’d shoved her into a cell and locked her up. He’d asked the Seeker for permission to examine her, curious as to where she had come from, but Cassandra had denied him permission, asking him to focus on the ‘woman with the glowing hand’ instead.

He would consider Helena’s survival a stroke of luck, because she was the only one who held the power to close the Breach and seal rifts. He’d even thought of a plan to get her to trust him, and use it to subtly manipulate her into doing what he wanted, when the second survivor had shown up.

His face pulled into a frown at the thought of her. She’d been borderline hostile to him from the moment she’d laid eyes on him, which was baffling. She’d been skeptical at the explanation he’d offered the others about Helena’s ability to seal the rifts, and her eyes had pierced through him as though she knew the truth of who he was and what he’d done.

Despite that, there had been something between them, when her eyes had caught his. There had been a flare of power, of knowledge, of _**recognition**_. It had been so intense that he’d forgotten himself and his surroundings for a fleeting moment.

An impossibility, of course. He had never seen her before, and neither had his agents.

So when she claimed to have visions, he’d been dubious, convinced she was trying to run some kind of scam. Until he’d seen for himself the truth of them. They had been able to rescue the missing scouts. There had been a rift near where the Commander had stood guard. There had been a Pride demon at the Breach.

Her visions had allowed them to take up better position, and while lives were lost, the losses were minimal, given what could have been.

She was an enigma. She clearly knew he suspected her, and seemed to find amusement in it, going so far as to deliberately stoke his suspicions. She’d either deflected or evaded his attempts to uncover who and what she was. She claimed to be from Rivain, but her accent, her mannerisms were out of character. She claimed to have been brought up in isolation, but her social nature belied it. There was a self-assuredness about her, a confidence that seemed out of place with her supposed origins. Even though she had been unconscious for most of her time at Haven, when she had woken up, he had watched her walk through the village with a sense of certainty. She’d smiled often, almost as if she was recognizing one thing or another, nodding her head as though agreeing with some dialogue in her head.

She’d said she was a healer, and that he could believe. Her skills were unlike anything he’d ever seen, especially for one who was not used to using magic to heal. Most non-mage healers were able to identify and treat external injuries and broken bones; yet she had managed to identify internal injuries to a level of accuracy only seen in advanced healers.

He shifted uncomfortably. She was… unlike… any of the humans he’d come in contact with. She had no qualms about accepting people for who they were, not even batting an eyelash as she called him a racist. Annoyance seeped into him. She had no right to call him that, not when she was so ignorant of what her people had done to his.

A picture of her flashed into his mind. Hair the color of gleaming garnet, a shade that would have goaded Andruil into jealousy, framed a face that was golden brown, kissed beautifully by the sun. Her eyes were a fusion of green, amber, and cat-eye yellow, swirling in rings around her pupil. Her lips he’d seen before, on Sylaise, whose mouth had been venerated in ancient times. Her smiles, whether they were coldly cutting or warmly inviting, flashed a set of teeth so white they could have been mistaken for the finest pearls.

_You are waxing poetic over a human, old wolf,_ he chided himself in disgust.

And then there was the matter of the marks on her arm. He had been stunned when he saw them. He had seen them once, a long, long time ago, had never thought he would see them again. _Vianvallas’tuatha_ , the brand of unity. Not even he knew what power the markings truly held. Mythal had ordered him to kill the man who had borne them, claiming he was a threat to the elvhen, and he'd done so without questioning why. Now, though, he wondered...

She had power, but the source and breadth of them were completely unknown to him. She had no control over them at the moment, could not even bring them to the surface, but he was no fool. She was intelligent, and would soon learn quickly. Would her magic affect her visions? What had they shown her? What could they show her? Would they only offer insight into the future, or would he have to worry about being uncovered before he was ready to reveal himself?

So many questions that needed answers.

She was a threat. She was the only one capable of exposing him for what he was, for who he was, and what he planned to do. She had also settled herself into the trust of the woman being called the Herald of Andraste a fact that the others remained oblivious to. But he had seen for himself how Helena had turned towards her several times, unconsciously asking for an opinion, or support. That was an additional complication; if Samarra deemed him untrustworthy, then Helena would not trust him.

He had been surprised when she had come to him to ask him to train her, given her obvious lack of trust in him. Perhaps that, he could use to his benefit. If he kept her close, if he gave her no reason to distrust him, he could overcome her dislike of him in time. If he planned well, he might even be able to sway her to his cause.

He had tried searching for her in the Fade, but something about her very nature guarded her fiercely, not letting anyone - or anything - near her. Only if she invited him into her dreams would he be able to see what she saw. Yet another mystery.

He would have to be careful. Even though he wielded more power than most of the mages in this age, he was not strong enough to be able to prevent her from doing much damage if she discovered who he was and took her visions to those in charge.

He thought about the metallic object Leliana had said was found on her. It was strange, an amalgamation of metal, glass, and a material he could not identify. He could not prise it apart, and after a half-hearted attempt or two, had given up. He'd suspected she would have been furious if he had damaged it in any way.

She had said she didn’t know how to use it, but something in her expression told him she was lying. There was a lingering sadness in her eyes as she had taken it from his hands, as though it reminded her of some loss. Maybe what she had said about her mentor was true, after all? He could not understand what the long, thin white cord was meant for. It was clearly meant as an attachment to the metallic object, having been wrapped around it several times, but what purpose it served remained unknown.

Yes, this Oracle of Andraste was someone he would have to keep an eye on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought the story needed a bit of Solas POV, but this was harder to put into words than I'd thought it would be.
> 
> Comments/suggestions/thoughts are always welcome :D


	9. For An Ending To Occur, A Beginning Must Take Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noone expects the Spanish Inquisition!
> 
> (especially in Thedas)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: ahahahaha no idea
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thoughts.

The runner found her in the healer’s tent, in the middle of giving Sedrick a sponge bath. She’d been doing that three times a day, having discovered it was a good way to bring down his fever. By some miracle, he was actually recovering, his pupils having shrunk to their normal size. Even the infection seemed to be abating, and he’d been showing signs of movement. At the (admittedly slightly alarming) rate of recovery, she hoped he would be awake within a day or two.

“Yes?” she politely asked the runner.

“You’re wanted in the Chantry, my lady,” he said. “The Seeker and Sister Leliana have requested your presence.”

_If they want me, I’m guessing Helena’s awake. Dammit! I was hoping to be there when she woke up. Never mind, I’ve got the rest of the day to catch up with her._

“Please tell them I will be by shortly, once I have finished tending to this patient.” she replied.

He gave her a bow, and sped off in the direction of the Chantry. She called over Everna, giving the friendly elf directions on how to bathe his forehead and armpits, and bid the woman to call on her should she need Samarra’s help. Washing her hands, she left the warmth of the tent, taking long steps towards the Chantry. Pushing the doors open, she noted that the Chantry was empty, and that there was the sound of muffled voices drifting from the war room. Helena stood outside, fiddling with her fingers, a look of nervousness on her face.

“You’re here!” she exclaimed, rushing to Samarra’s side. “I wanted to go in, but everyone inside seems to be angry, and… and I thought I’d wait for you, so we could go in and face them together.

 _Poor girl. She’s had a rough couple of days. Can’t be easy going from suspect number one to superhero. I bet they’re a lot nicer to her than they were to me,_ she thought wryly. _I certainly didn’t wake up to a parade. But that’s a good thing. Imagine how awful it would’ve been, to have everyone’s eyes on you, and hearing everyone talk about you._

She hugged the brunette. “Don’t worry. Whatever happens, I’m here for you, okay?” Pulling back, she smiled encouragingly at Helena. “Let’s show those jerks inside that we’re not to be trifled with, shall we?”

“Jerks?” Helena looked confused.

 _Dammit._ “It means ingrates. Insensitive boors. Assholes. You take your pick.”

She gave a startled laugh. “I’m sure Seeker Cassandra and Sister Leliana are both good-hearted women,” she said.

“Maybe so.” she shrugged. “But you will have to pardon me for being a little wary of them. Seeker Pentaghast nearly had me killed. To see her change completely… is a bit jarring. As for Sister Leliana… well, the woman has told me she clearly doesn’t trust me.” At Helena’s wide-eyed look, she rushed to explain. “It is understandable. I am an outcast, from a strange land, with no family or friends to call my own. I have abilities even I cannot explain. I am an untrained mage. Certainly there is cause for them to be wary of me.”

Helena was indignant. “But you chose to help them out freely! Without your counsel, so many people would have died or been injured. I might have died, trying to close the rift, if it hadn’t been for your help! It’s not fair!”

_Fuck, me and my big mouth. The last thing that’s needed is for her to remain distrustful of the advisors._

“Yes, it might not seem fair,” she agreed gently, “but in these times of chaos, it’s better to be careful.”

Helena wasn’t happy, but she dropped the matter. 

“Shall we?” Samarra indicated towards the war room door. They walked up together, and Helena flung the door open, walking in with her head held high, confidence, and self-assuredness radiating from her.

 _Good girl_ , Samarra thought approvingly. _Show them that you’re not to be trifled with. Let them see that you cannot be intimidated, cannot be manipulated._

“Chain them. I want them prepared for travel to the capital for trial,” Chancellor Roderick ordered the guards flanking the doorway haughtily.

“Disregard that, and leave us,” Cassandra’s orders clearly superseded those of the cleric, and the guards bowed and exited the room, shutting the door behind them.

_Cassandra, you’re such a badass. I love you._

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” Roderick threatened.

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it,” Cassandra said evenly.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Helena clench her fists and step forward. “So I - we - are still suspects, even after what we just did?” she growled.

“You absolutely are,” Roderick spat out.

“Interesting,” Samarra piped up. “Someone certainly seems to have a vested interest in pinning the blame for the Breach on us. Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave, yes. Someone the Divine _most certainly did not expect_.”

Leliana understood what she was implying. “Perhaps they died with the others - or have allies who yet live.”

It was hilarious to watch the cleric splutter like a dying fish. “I am a suspect?” he asked indignantly.

“You,” Leliana agreed, “and many others.”

“But not the prisoners?” he asked angrily.

“Chancellor Roderick, I know it is very difficult for a man with your limited brain size to comprehend everything that happened, so allow me to explain it to you. If we were truly guilty, neither of us would have volunteered our services. Neither Helena, nor I, would have willingly agreed to put our lives on the line to kill the demons and seal the rifts. If Helena was in fact the cause of the Breach - which I emphatically declare she was not - she would have _wanted_ it to spread. She wouldn’t have _nearly died_ trying to close it! Now you, on the other hand, have done nothing but flap your hands, and throw accusations! In fact, I recall you trying to persuade the Seeker to retreat, and not continue with her plans to seal the Breach! If she had followed your advice, the Breach would have become bigger, and would have cost the lives of thousands! So it seems to me, that you are more guilty in this matter than we are, since you have done fuck all to help.” Samarra declared coldly, Helena nodding in agreement.

“I heard the voices in the temple. The Divine called to her for help,” Cassandra supported them.

“So their survival - that thing on her hand - all a coincidence?” he sneered, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Providence. The Maker sent them to us in our darkest hour.” Cassandra stated.

Before she could say anything, Helena burst out. “Three days ago, you wanted me dead, and now I’m your savior?”

“I was wrong,” Cassandra conceded. “Perhaps I still am. I will not, however, pretend you are not exactly what we need when we needed it.”

Helena looked as though she wanted to say something else, but Samarra placed a hand gently on her arm - an action that did not go unnoticed by Leliana, who gave Samarra a considering look. It worked to calm Helena down, though, and the woman waited to see what the others would say next.

 _Let the Inquisition be brought to life,_ Samarra thought excitedly. _Commence epic butt-kicking, awesomesauce companions, and Wicked Grace games with naked Cullen!_ She ignored the trials they would have to face for the moment. _No point starting off with a lemon on my tongue. Gotta keep the spirits high, and I don’t mean the kind you get in the tavern._

Leliana addressed Helana. “The Breach remains, and your mark is still our only hope of closing it.”

Roderick scoffed. “This is not for you to decide.”

“Hey, moron, she wasn’t talking to you now, was she?” Samarra drawled. “So shut up, and listen to what the ladies in charge have to say.”

If looks could kill, she’d have been incinerated.

A loud thump drew her attention to the table. _This is it!_ Samarra squealed internally. _This is where it all begins_. The book on the table was massive, beautifully bound in metal, painted and etched with a great deal of care. _I have to touch it. I don’t care if they chop my hands off, but I have to touch it. How can I not touch it? It’s the freaking book! **The** freaking book!_

She almost missed out on Cassandra’s speech. Almost. “You know what this is, Chancellor? A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.”

The Seeker’s words sent chills up her spine, and her skin broke out in gooseflesh.

“We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order.. With or without your approval,” she declared.

_Damn. The Inquisitor did much of the work, but the driving force, the determination, the faith behind all of it came from Cassandra,_ Samarra realized. _Their success was probably guaranteed because it had been declared, with absolute certainty, by someone touched by a spirit of faith._

The cleric gave them all a disparaging look before storming out of the room. 

“This is the Divine’s directive,” Leliana explained. “Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now, no Chantry support. 

“But we have no choice. We must act now. With you at our side,” Cassandra continued. 

Helena looked at her questioningly, and she gave her a small nod. “If you’re truly trying to restore order… “ she began. 

“That is the plan,” Leliana stated. 

Samarra spoke up. “I have said this before, but I will say it again. I will help, in any way I can.” 

Both she and Helena shook hands with the Left and Right Hand of the Divine - _heh, I’m shaking hands with The Hands. This is certainly a very… hands on… approach. Certainly a very...handy...way to create an alliance_. She swallowed the snicker that accompanied her terrible puns. 

“Excellent,” Leliana declared. “We must begin at once. I will arrange for another meeting in the afternoon. Helena can get acquainted with the Commander and our Ambassador, and we can plan our next course of action. 

Helena nodded. She turned hesitantly towards Samarra. “Would you mind showing me around the village, if you’re not too busy?” 

“Of course,” she said warmly. “I’d be glad to. I hope you won’t mind if I check in on a patient first, though.” 

“How goes your healing duties, Samarra?” Leliana interjected. 

“As well as can be expected, given Haven’s resources. Most of the refugees are overcome with shock, and can be treated with a warm bowl of stew and a safe place to rest their heads. A few have minor injuries, grazes, scrapes, mild frostbite and the like, all easily treatable, but we are running short of healing potions. There are a couple in a serious condition that I’m most concerned about. They seem to be improving, which has given me some hope, but I am loathe to come to any conclusion as to their fate.” 

Leliana nodded, as though expecting it. “Yes, I’ve been told your presence has gone a great way towards comforting the sick,” she said. “For that, I thank you. Giles informs me that with your intervention, Sedrick stands a chance. Do keep me updated as to his condition. He was one of my best agents.” 

_Oh wow. So she does have a warm and fuzzy side._ “I’ll do that, Sister Leliana.” 

“Please, call me Leliana.” she said, a small smile on her face. _I can just see the ‘Leliana Greatly Approves’ sign on the screen. So, I’ve finally gone some way towards gaining her trust. That’s always a good thing, right? I mean, she might still totally stab me, but at least now she’ll make it painless?_

She walked out of the Chantry with Helena, who asked her about her past. She gave the newly-declared Herald the same story she had given the others, some guilt coursing through her at the sympathy the brunette offered. _Wow, she’s so nice. I bet she’ll get everyone to totally fall in love with her. Hang on, though, if she’s super nice to Vivienne, will the Cruella de Vil become Divine? Because that is literally the worst thing that could happen. No, I won’t let it happen. I’ll have to warn Helena before that. Let her know that Madame De Fer is all about her own agenda all the time._

She was explaining to Helena about Sedrick’s injuries as she stepped into the tent, only to be taken aback by Solas’ presence. “Uhhh, hello.” she said slowly. “Fancy meeting you here.” 

He inclined his head. “I was curious about your methods. I do recall asking your permission to observe, if you remember.” 

She sighed. “I do. I only came to check on them. Everna’s already bathed him once -” she placed a hand his forehead, pleased to note his skin did not seem to blaze under her touch, “and it seems to have brought down his fever. You’ll note his skin appears less flushed, and I assume you’ve observed his pupils?” 

Solas nodded. “It is indeed a vast improvement from the time you began your treatment,” he commented. “Only two days, and it looks as though he will recover.” 

Samarra took a deep breath. “I hope so. Assuming he wakes up, there is still much to check. The fact that he continues to live, however, bodes well for him.” She walked over to the woman who had the clot, Ashalle was her name. “She is healing well. Dissolving the clot has definitely reduced the swelling. She woke up briefly this morning - Giles told me she was talking, and he gave her some broth and a sleeping potion. Once she awakes again, I’ll be running some cognitive tests.” 

“Cognitive tests?” he asked. 

“Tests to check whether her mind is functioning as it should.” 

“What all will you be testing for?” 

“Basic things, like does she remember her name, does she know how to do basic things like move her body, I’ll test her memory, things like that.” 

“Interesting. I would like to be present for this testing, with your consent of course.” 

She rolled her eyes. “If I said no, would you listen?” 

He had the grace to look slightly abashed. “I would have lingered outside, hoping you would change your mind.” 

She shook her head. “Very well. I will call on you this evening, and we can proceed together. Does that work for you?” 

“Yes. Are we still meeting for your training?” 

“Of course. I would not miss it.” She turned to Helena, who was observing their conversation with a smile. “I’m so sorry for the delay. Shall we continue the tour?” 

“Are you showing the Herald around?” Solas interjected. “Perhaps you would not mind if I accompanied you?” 

Helena giggled, and Samarra gawked at her. _Did she just giggle? Is… is she interested in Solas?_ For some reason, the thought made her slightly resentful. _I’m just looking out for her. I’m just protecting her! He’s going to take her arm if I don’t do something about it. And she deserves to retain her arm._

“Not at all,” Helena exclaimed. “Please, join us.” 

_Fuckity fuck fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the Inquisition is born! Woo! Yeah! Take _that_ , Chancellor RoderDICK!!
> 
> Comments, thoughts and suggestions welcome! *offers chance to touch the book that began the Inquisition*


	10. Pity Those Who Do Not Feel Anything At All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who says life isn't a roller coaster of feelings?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: As per my ouija board
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thoughts.

The Inquisition was born, the banners announcing the fledgling organization hanging all through the village. She’d been pulled into the ceremony they’d held earlier, the soldiers gathered in front of the Chantry in perfect formation as the advisors, the Herald and she had stood in front of its doors, as the large cloth banner unfurled from the roof of the building. She’d been strangely moved, especially when Cassandra stepped forward and gave an impassioned speech about closing the Breach and restoring order to Thedas once more. Despite the emotion that charged the atmosphere, Samarra was the tiniest bit disappointed. Leliana had sent her ravens to Redcliffe and Therinfal Redoubt, but there was no scenic montage of Varric gazing stormily up at them, no cutscenes showing the warm coziness of Redcliffe or the stern, unforgiving stone of Therinfal. She’d always loved the cutscene, it had always been so breathtaking.

_But hey, you did get to see Cassandra march confidently through a line of saluting soldiers_ , she thought.

Now she and Helena were resting in their room, and Samarra found herself listening to the story of the young brunette’s life.

“... at first, my family insisted that I obey their wishes and become a quiet, obedient girl who would further their power and their connections by making a suitable marriage,” Helena sounded bitter. “But I resisted, and eventually they gave up on that stance. Since I was the youngest, they agreed to let me train as a Templar. I was just about to take my vigil when the war broke out. Papa sent me to accompany Uncle Richard and my cousins to the Conclave.” Her voice broke. “It would have been a chance for peace,” she sniffed. “I know the templars are not blameless. I heard about Kirkwall. The way those mages were treated… it isn’t right.” She raised her eyes to Samarra’s. “This is going to sound strange, but from the moment I met you, I feel like I’ve known you all my life. And… knowing you are a mage… the thought of someone who feels like a sister to me being hunted down and killed by templars… like at the Circle at Ostwick…” she sighed. “The templars have lost their way. Cassandra was right.”

Helena looked so lost and forlorn, her heart went out to her. “Hey,” she said softly, wrapping an arm around the other woman’s shoulders, “you’re not like the templars in Kirkwall, or the ones who are running around rogue. You have a good heart, you have principles and morals. Listen to them.”

Helena looked troubled. “Do you think I should continue down the templar path?”

Samarra chewed on her lip nervously. _What do I tell you, hon? That when I made your character, I chose the path of Champion for you, because Cullen was so against you becoming a templar? Do I tell you about how, if you choose to become a templar, you might end up like Samson? I would not want to see you addicted to lyrium. But you’re not supposed to be able to choose your path till your reach Skyhold._

_Wait, that actually sounds stupid. Why would anyone wait to learn more about their abilities? This isn’t a game, they aren’t limited that way. In fact, it makes sense that she choose her path now, because it will serve her well in the future._

“No,” she said. Taking a deep breath, she looked Helena in the eyes. “As a templar, you will take lyrium,” she stated. “Lyrium is highly addictive. I do not know how effective it will be at enhancing your abilities… but the side effects are not pleasant. And lyrium withdrawal… can be deadly. I would not wish that for you, Helena.”

The brunette mulled over her words. “What do you think I should do?”

Samarra chuckled. “I’m not exactly a warrior, remember? Perhaps you should talk to the Seeker and the Commander, they will be able to tell you more. I give you suggestions on what you should not do… but what you want to do, that is your decision to make.”

There was a soft knock on the door. “Come in!” Helena called out, and the door swung open easily to reveal Solas standing at the doorway. He observed Samarra and Helena sitting on one of the cots, clearly in the middle of conversation, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“I came to ask if you were ready for another lesson in magic, Samarra,” he said politely.

“Shoot! What is the time? I hope I’m not late!” she exclaimed.

“Not at all. I thought we might walk to the training grounds together.” he said, angling his head.

Helena giggled. _What is with this woman and her giggles_ , Samarra thought mutinously. “You should go practice, Samarra! It’s important!” she actually squealed a little, jumping up from the bed and dragging Samarra to the door. “Go on now, shoo! Get practicing!”

_Wait a minute… is she… does she think… oh my god, she’s trying to play matchmaker between Solas and I. Oh. Oh you sweet, innocent child. Don’t bother. He is literally the worst person you could try to fix me up with. Seriously. The man would happily turn me into stone if he knew I held his secrets. And if I spend too long with him, I might slip up. You’re a sweetheart Helena, but no honey, you have to stop the matchmaking._

“Of course. Would I need to change into something sturdier?” she asked, looking down at her simple tunic and breeches.

“It will not be necessary,” he replied. “We will still be focusing on getting your magic to emerge. That means meditation, and focusing your mind.”

“Okay,” she shrugged, “if you say so.” She turned to Helena. “What are your plans?”

“I will be meeting the Commander and Josephine. After that, I’ll probably head over to the tavern. I hear Varric hangs out there, and he seems like a fun person to spend time with.”

“Excellent. Once I’m done, I’ll join you. Hey, if you’re going to see Josephine, would you mind asking her for a couple of journals and some writing instruments on my behalf? I want to start taking notes.”

“Have they not given any to you?” Helena was indignant.

“Still building trust here, remember?” she said with a grin. “Not all of us hail from well-known noble families,” she said, smiling to take the sting out of the words.

Helena flushed. “It’s not right,” she muttered. ‘You’ve done nothing but be helpful.”

“In time,” she said cheerily. “Oh, which reminds me - I’m not sure what the sleeping arrangements will be, now that you’re up and about. I’ll have to talk to Josephine about it. In which case, I’ll ask her for the journals myself, don’t worry.”

She was confused when Helena directed a hurt look at her. “Don’t you want to share a room with me?” she asked, pouting a little.

“Of course not,” Samarra replied, taken aback. “I assumed that, you know, what with you being the Herald of Andraste and all… that they might want you to have a room to yourself, for appearances.”

“Screw appearances. Haven’s already plenty crowded, it makes no sense for each of us to have a room all to ourselves.”

Samarra gave the brunette a grin. “If you’re okay with it, I am too.”

“Great! Now to ask for a bathtub. I cannot go another day without taking a bath,” Helena shuddered. 

“A woman after my own heart!” Samarra pretended to wipe an imaginary tear from her eye. “I’ll see you later, then? In the tavern?”

“Yes, definitely!”

Solas cleared his throat, feeling out of place. “Shall we proceed? We have wasted enough time.”

“Oh, Solas,” she grinned at him. “Lighten up! It’s not like the world is ending or anything… oh wait no, I get your point.” She winked at him. “Let’s be off then, shall we?”

He muttered something indecipherable under his breath and followed her. “You should not make light of the situation at hand,” he chided her. “Talking about the end of the world, even in jest, is in poor form.”

She huffed irritably. “What exactly is the protocol, then? Would you rather have me swing a lighted brazier through the village, chanting about doom and gloom?”

“It is disrespectful, especially given the number of lives that have been lost.”

She whirled to face him then, a look of absolute fury on her face. “You want to talk about that? You? Really?” She stared into his eyes, pinning him with the intensity of her gaze. He stared back at her, his face wary, his eyes probing into hers.

Then she took a deep breath and looked away. _We’re all just pieces on a board to him, she reminded herself. He will use anything to get under your skin, to manipulate you. Well done, you idiot, you might as well have a flashing sign over your head that screams ‘I know you’re Fen’harel!’. He said what he said to get a rise out of you, and you took the bait, hook, line and sinker. What is wrong with you? You need to step your game up. You need to be on your A-game at all times with him. Don’t fling the gameboard away before your opponent has a chance to sit down. It benefits no one. Think of the long term._

“I believe we have a lesson to get to,” she said shortly.

“Of course.” he lead the way to the isolated spot by the frozen lake they’d claimed as their training spot. “You must learn to focus inwards. Listen to your body. Find your magic within you.”

She sat in the same yoga position she had the day before, trying to calm her angry mind. _It’s not his fault. He didn’t know Coryphy-ass was immortal. He didn’t know that Coryphyshit was going to open the orb at the conclave. He couldn’t predict all those deaths._

_Really? His agents lead Coryphydick to the orb. You’re telling me his agents wouldn’t have known that the dipshit planned to bring it to the Conclave?_

_Maybe he did, but how could he have predicted the asshole would open the orb here?_

_Why else would he bring it here? If he didn’t open the orb as soon as he found it, but he takes it some place else, isn’t it logical to assume that he intended to open it in the new location? And Solas knows the power of the orb. He knew opening it would cause an explosion. He intended the explosion to kill only the magister._

_Exactly! He knew, once he knew the magister was at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, what it would mean. Yet he did nothing! He was just content to have all those people die!_

_Was he really, though? I mean, the dude isn’t fond of killing. He was an apostate mage, not to mention an elf, in the midst of templars and Circle mages. Who would have listened to him? They’d have called him a madman. Or maybe if they did believe him, they’d have had him locked up. What could he have done? She exhaled slowly. What could you have done? I mean, seriously, aren’t you in the same position? If you walk up to any of them and tell them that hey, you know that apostate elf mage? Yeah, he’s no ordinary elf, he’s actually one of the ancient elven gods. Yeah, his name is Fen’harel, and he created the Veil. What are the chances they’ll believe you? More likely they think you’ve lost your mind, and have you locked up - or worse, killed._

_You might have a point._

_You think?_

_How the fuck are we going to manage this?_

_There’s no point in falling to pieces right off the bat. Give it time. For whatever it’s worth, you have some time to plan._

“ _Da’lan_?” His voice shook her out of her thoughts. “ _Da’lan, vegaran ar’min_!” 

“ _Tel’lahnan ma da’lan_ ,” she grumbled, opening her eyes.

And she froze.

Figuratively _and_ literally.

There was a thick chunk of ice surrounding her in a neat ring. She was shivering, and hadn’t even been aware of it, so lost in her thoughts she had been. “S-s-some help, p-please!” Whether she was stuttering as a result of the cold, or fear, she didn’t know. Probably both.

With a wave of his hand, he melted the ice around her. She fell backwards as she felt his magic hit her. It was rich and potent. Delicious. _Oh my lords. I want to eat it. I want to gobble it down, go in for seconds, for thirds… I want to feast on it_. Where did that come from? It wasn’t there yesterday! “Do that again!” she gasped out.

He quirked his brow at her. “What?”

“Your magic! I felt it!”

“Interesting. Can you feel my aura now, or was it only when I used magic?”

She focused on him. “I sense… there’s a faint humming around you.”

He tut-tutted. “It should be very prominent.” He produced a small flame in the cup of his hands. “What can you feel now?”

“That!” she gasped. “I could feel it! Like… like your magic has a… a kind of flavor? Is it supposed to do that?”

“Every mage has a different signature to their magic, yes. But this is the first I have heard of it having a flavor,” he gave a small chuckle. “Can you not, uh, _taste_ your own, then?”

Her face fell. “No, nothing. If it wasn’t for the fact I apparently conjured up an ice wall, I’d think I wasn’t really a mage at all.”

“Give it time,” he said kindly. “Your body and mind have been through a significant shock. It will take some time for it to recalibrate itself. That you are able to sense my magic is a step forward from yesterday.”

“I guess so,” she muttered.

He sighed. “Perhaps that is enough for the day. I can see you are emotional, and practicing magic when your emotions are heightened, without having any control over your power does not bode well. Come, we will head back to the village. You do have some patients to check up on.”

“You’re right,” she sighed.

“Would you like to go directly to see them, or would you rather have your supper first?” he inquired solicitously.

“I’ll check on them first. I promised Helena I’d meet her at the tavern, and I suspect there will be ale involved,” she grinned. 

“You mentioned your intention to run some cognitive tests. Might I observe?”

“I thought I already gave your permission?” she teased.

He smiled faintly. “It does not hurt to confirm.”

“Well, it would be ungracious of me to say yes and then change my mind, so come on.” 

_What… what is wrong with you? You’re about to let this very, very, VERY intelligent man observe your actions. He’s going to watch you, and learn more about you, and discover things about you you don’t want discovered. What is wrong with you?!?! He even gave you a way out!! What was that ladylike spiel about graciousness? You’re not Josephine for bloody fuck’s sake! Even Josie would be better at keeping stuff hidden than you are!!!!_

She was silent as they walked towards the hut, unaware of the sidled glances he gave her. “I am sure they will be recovering well,” he said smoothly. “I have every faith in your abilities.”

_Wow, real smooth. You’re quite the flatterer, aren’t you? Is that how you got the ladies into your bed back in Arlathan?_ “That was quite the vote of confidence. I can only hope I am as good at what I do as you believe me to be.” Her voice was coy.

_**WHY ARE YOU FLIRTING WITH HIM SAMARRA WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU** _

He smirked, as though reading her mind. “On the contrary; I believe you are much better than you give yourself credit for.” He opened the flap of the tent. “After you.”

She walked in, pleased to see Ashalle sitting upright. “Hello,” she called out quietly, walking towards her. “How are you feeling?”

The woman had a puzzled look on her face. “Where am I?” she asked.

Samarra pulled up a chair by her bed, noting that Solas stood a little distance away. “You are in the healer’s tent, at Haven. My name is Samarra. I am a doc - healer. I have been looking after you, and I am pleased to see you are awake.”

“The Conclave!” the woman gasped out, terror flooding her face. “My husband! He was with me! And my child!” Her hands moved to her stomach protectively. “What of them? Is my child safe?”

_Shit._

She looked at Solas and mouthed, “Can you calm her down?” He nodded, and walked over, placing his hand gently on her head. His hands glowed white for an instant, and the woman visibly calmed. Samarra tugged on his sleeve and pulled him close. “I was not informed the woman was with child. Can you tell me if she still carries it?” He quirked a brow at her in surprise, and she hissed, “I cannot tell without examining her further. If I do so now, she will panic. It is the last thing that I want.” Nodding, he placed a hand on the woman’s stomach, while she distracted Ashalle.

“Ashalle, you were badly injured. You’re doing better now, but one of the injuries was to your head, and I want to make sure everything up there-” she tapped her head with a smile, “is working as it should. I’m going to ask you some questions, and I want you to answer them as best as you can, okay?”

Ashalle nodded. “Good! What is your name?”

“Ashalle Lindiranae. I accompanied my husband, Varathorn.”

“Where are you from, Ashalle?”

The woman’s face flushed, and her face turned bitter. “I will not say. I will not let you destroy my clan, shem!”

_Right. The whole elf-human shitstain._ Before she could soothe the woman, Solas spoke up. “The healer is here to help you, Ashalle.” He leaned into her ear, and spoke softly. “She no longer bears the child. The strain of her injuries on her body was too much.”

_Oh, oh no._

Samarra took the woman’s hand between hers. “With your permission, I would send word to your clan of your survival. I am sure they will be wondering about your fate.”

Uncertainty washed over the woman’s features. “What of Varathorn?

She looked over at Solas, who shook his head sadly. “I’m so sorry, my dear,” she said softly. “Your husband… did not survive the explosion.”

“ _Nae! Nae! Varathorn, ma lath, ma vhenan_!” Ashalle’s cries of grief ripped through her. Samarra moved onto the bed, pulling the young woman into her arms and holding her tightly. Ashalle’s tears soon gave way to sobs. “At least… at least I will have his child.”

Samarra swallowed hard. _Dear god, how do I tell this poor woman she’s lost her family?_ It was one of the reasons she’d become a researcher in the first place. She could never bear to deliver bad news to patients and their loved ones. She pulled back, holding Ashalle’s hands between hers. “Ashalle,” she began hesitantly, but with a mother’s intuition the woman read the truth in Samarra’s face. Her shoulders began to shake in horror, and she howled into the silence of the tent, a sound filled with grief, and loss. “Why do I still live?” she shrieked. “I have nothing left. I have lost everything. What is there for me in this blighted world?” She pulled her hands free, and hurled her fists at Samarra, who did nothing to stop her. “Why did you save me? You should have let me die! I should have died, I should die, I should join my husband and child… “

Samarra let her vent her grief and anger on her, stopping Solas with a signal as he moved to restrain Ashalle. When the worst of the broken woman’s attacks were over, she pulled Ashalle into her arms once more, rubbing her back comfortingly. 

“You will grieve for long, my dear, it cannot be helped. You will want to die, you will want to curl up and hide away from the world, you will feel like your mind is not in your body. Losing someone is always painful, and if I could take the pain of it away from you, I would.” Samarra held Ashalle’s tear-stained face between her hands.”The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. But let me tell you this, Ashalle. As devastating as it is, it is not the end of the world. It will not be the end of you. You will get up, you will dust yourself off, you will put together the fragments of your broken self, and you will move on. You will heal, and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. Not because you want to, no, but it is what _they_ would have wanted for you. You will be whole again, but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same, nor would you want to.”

The tears continued to slide down Ashalle’s face, but she listened blindly.

“I will ask Solas to put you to sleep, my dear. Your mind has taken in too much, too soon. If you wake up, and you want to talk, ask one of the other healers to send for me, and I will come immediately. No matter what time it is. Do you understand?”

Ashalle nodded. “Thank you.”

“There is no need for thanks.” She pressed a gentle kiss on Ashalle’s forehead, and nodded at Solas, who immediately stepped forward and pressed his hand on Ashalle’s head, casting a sleep spell. The woman drifted off to sleep in moments.

Samarra was quiet as she checked over Sedrick, pleased to see that he was well on the road to recovery. It looked like he would regain consciousness very soon. _Well, there’s some good news, at least._ Walking out of the tent, she stopped a runner who seemed to be heading towards Cullen’s office. “I know I’m interrupting, but I would very much appreciate if you informed the Herald that I will not be joining her tonight. She will be at the tavern.” He nodded and gave her a small bow, and sped onto his destination. She walked slowly towards her room, Solas by her side.

“You were kind to her,” Solas stated.

She sighed. “Do you believe me to be some kind of monster, that I would ignore the grief of a woman who has just lost her husband and unborn child?

“That is not what I meant to imply. You could have done what others would do, placate her with words that sound sweet yet mean nothing. Instead, you offered her the truth even as you gave her hope. She might not appreciate it now, but she will in time.”

“She woke up to find her world gone. The shock of it, the loss of it could have driven her to do something terrible.” She smiled a small, sad smile at him, her eyes unseeing. “Those of us who have been in her place know and understand.” 

She broke away from him and walked into her room, carefully shutting the door behind her. Once she was sure it was shut, she leaned back against it and sank to the floor, shedding her own, silent tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Da’lan, vegaran ar’min - Child, come back to the present.  
> Tel’lahnan ma da’lan - Don't call me a child.
> 
> You know that feeling when you set out to start writing something, then get caught up in the scenes in your head and you totally veer off course into something else? Yeah... this is what happens each time I think of life in Haven.
> 
> Suggestions, comments and thoughts all welcome! I really do love hearing from you :D


	11. Experience Is A Cruel And Effective Teacher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: It is what is is
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thoughts.

He stared at the door she’d just shut for several long minutes, shock overtaking his sense.

_She woke up to find her world gone_

_...the loss of it...could have driven her to do something terrible_

_Those of us… in her place… know and understand_

The words rang in his head. Was that meant for him, or for herself?

He shuffled to his room, grateful for the privacy and silence that allowed him to _think_. He’d long suspected she was more than what she seemed, but the thought that she held secrets that rivaled his own… was intriguing.

She was intriguing.

What had she meant by that? He had to find out. He intended to find out. Her choice of words was curious. Either she had experienced great loss - but she looked too young to have lost a husband - or she had angled her words at him. But the emotion in her eyes - that could not have been faked.

He sighed. The moments when she slipped up and he saw _something_ of the woman she was were all too few and fleeting. Something he had said had clearly upset her enough to have her emotions manifest themselves as magic. Despite the look she had given him, it had not been anger; anger would have manifested as flame. It was certainly curious that despite her momentary anger, the dominating emotion in her was sadness.

Why?

* * *

  


Samarra pulled off her pants, and crawled into her bed wearing her tunic, pulling the wool blanket over her. She felt raw, weak and exhausted, her memories and thoughts having sapped her energy.

_The office was cold, almost inhumanely so. Despite her cardigan, she shivered, pulling herself together as the doctor walked in._

_“We got your CAT scan and test results back. And…. unfortunately, we did find something. It isn’t good news, I’m afraid.”_

_She gripped his hand tightly, both their eyes on the doctor. “What is it?” Her throat felt so dry, her stomach was in knots, her heart was pounding, racing far too quickly in her ribcage._

_“Primary glioblastoma. Stage IV.”_

_He was so still next to her, frozen in place, his skin like ice._

_She licked her chapped lips. The air conditioning in hospitals always dried out her lips and skin. Once, she’d joked about it. “What are our options?”_

_The doctor hadn’t met her eyes. She’d known then, unconsciously, that things were not good._

_“Providing we start treatment immediately… you’re looking at about 14 months._

_“...What?” A hushed whisper of agonized disbelief._

_“I’m so sorry, Mr. Parker, Ms. Bayart. Primary glioblastomas are notoriously malignant and fast growing. Even with cocurrent temozolamide and radiation therapy, you’re looking at a two-year survival rate of 30%.”_

_“Dr. Hart, I’ve been reading about the MGMT gene…”_

_“We had that tested, Samarra. The genes in the tumor have been methylated and are active.”_

_“I don’t understand. Isn’t it supposed to be inactive in malignant gliomas?”_

_“Yes, but that varies from person to person. I’m truly sorry. I’ll give you both some time to talk, but we do need to start treatment immediately.”_

_He’d never said a word, not even when it came to scheduling his treatment. Not as they stuck the IV in his veins, as the poison flowed into his system. Not as the radiation singed his eyebrows off, caused his hair to fall out in clumps._

_His last words to her had been an apology. “I’m sorry I’m leaving you alone, sweetheart. I will always love you. Always.”_

She stared at the roof of the hut. After James’ death, she’d been completely and utterly lost. He had been her best friend, her rock, her most ardent supporter, her lover… he was supposed to have been her forever. Till he was taken away from her. Her friends couldn’t understand, and eventually, one after the other, they had drifted away from her.

As for her parents… the less she thought of them, the better. They were wealthy snobs who’d always looked down on James, had never thought him good enough for her because his bank balance hadn’t met their approval. She’d heard from them time and again, how she was letting down the family name by associating with the ‘riff raff’. She was a Bayart!, she was told. She had been groomed to make the ultimate trophy wife… until she’d started rebelling, anyway.

It was easy to lie and pretend and make up stories here in this strange new world when she’d been doing it forever back home.

_Is that why I’m here? To find purpose once again? To truly help make a difference? But why? I enjoyed my research. I thought I was doing some good on Earth. I thought I was putting my knowledge to good use._

_Good use, maybe, but not practical use. How many people has your work helped?_

_None so far, but the potential…_

_The potential was there only if your hypothesis was correct. Can you say it was?_

_It was heading in that direction!_

_You have a choice. You can sit here, and mope and moan about the life you’ve had taken from you. Or, you can decide to truly embrace and accept this new chance for adventure, and make the most of it. Make a difference, in this world. You are in a unique position of actually being able to make a difference. You have advanced knowledge. You are in an organization that will eventually become one of the most powerful and prominent organizations in this world. What was it Flemeth said? “Regret is something I know well. Take care not to cling to it, to hold it so close that it poisons your soul.” Maybe that’s something you need to do. You cannot change your situation. Why not embrace it rather than regret it?_

_Did you just seriously quote something from a super shady elven goddess to prove your point? That’s kind of low, dude._

_Hey, if the shoe fits…_

_If the shoe fits it doesn’t mean you should wear it! Especially if it’s not your shoe!_

_Ugh._

_Now you sound like Cassandra. Come on, now. Let’s get some sleep._

Tomorrow, she decided, she would begin to lay tentative plans. Having calmed herself down, she soon drifted off to sleep... and found herself in a white colored bubble.

_Well, that’s new. I wonder what this place is._

_Let’s see… given that you were in bed, it’s safe to assume you are actually asleep, and this is the Fade._

_AVOID SOLAS AVOID SOLAS AVOID SOLAS_

_Calm down. I’m sure thinking that is going to serve as a beacon rather than a repellent._

_What do you know of the Fade, anyway? Pffffft._

_I’m at least smart enough to recognize that you can learn things in the Fade. Why not use the time to learn something about magic?_

_How the fuck am I supposed to ‘do’ magic if I don’t even know what it feels like?_

_Ummm, you have a point there. Is there like a Fade library or something?_

_I’m not sure. Maybe if we think about a library? Or books, or something?_

She pictured the library from her college days, and soon she was surrounded by shelves and thousands of books. She reached out hesitantly to touch a book, startled by how real it felt. She pulled it out from the shelf, glancing at the title as she did so - Pathologic Basis of Disease - and opened it, her eyes scanning through familiar words. _It even smells like a book should_ , she thought, slightly startled.

“I am honored to be the first you called to your side.”

She jumped about a foot into the air, the book falling from her hands, the sound it made as it hit the floor loud and jarring in the silence. She whirled around to see… a spirit. Or what she assumed to be a spirit. It hovered in the air, a shimmer of golden mist, translucent and glowing, having the shape of a man but no distinctly clear features.

“Who...who are you?” she asked, a quaver in her voice.

It cocked its head to the side as though confused. “You fear me,” it stated in a calm monotone, with an strange underlying echo. “You need not. I am Knowledge. You called me to your side.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have all gathered around you, waiting for a chance to meet you, but you keep us out, keep everything out. Your light glows bright, your nature calls to us. I came because you sought knowledge. I am here to help.”

“Wait, what do you mean, they all want to talk to me? Why would all the spirits want to talk to me? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

He - can she call a spirit a he? Or should she call it an it? - smiled mysteriously. “You will learn in time. How can I help you?”

She narrowed her eyes at him - _great, I’m doing it now. Thanks a lot, egghead and nightingale, you guys have definitely rubbed off on me_ \- but he only looked back at her serenely. _Guess he’s not going to budge on the whole secrecy behind ‘they all want to talk to me’ thing. It’s interesting though. Should I do it? Maybe not now. Maybe once I can actually do magic. Hey, maybe it can help me! He is a spirit of Knowledge, right?_

“I wish to learn about magic. I don’t know how it feels! I cannot feel my magic within me.”

“You are going about it the wrong way. You have the power to see. See the Fade for what it is. See your world for what it is. It is all atoms and molecules - that is your word for it? Once you can see the world for what it is, you will know how to manipulate it, and you will feel your magic.”

She mulled over his statement. “It makes sense,” she thought aloud. “Everything is made of atoms and molecules. Breaking their bonds is an exothermic reaction, and will create energy. Creating bonds is endothermic, and requires energy. Fire is the easiest, because if you break a bunch of air molecules, wham! Instant energy. Keeping in mind the first law of thermodynamics, energy can neither be created nor destroyed, only changed from one form to another. So magic effectively uses a mage as a conduit to convert energy from the Fade, into offensive or defensive spells. Probably not just limited to offensive or defensive. Let’s see, what were the ability families? Elemental, Entropy, Primal, Arcane, Spirit, Creation. Elemental was fire and ice, Primal was earth and sky, So that’s basically the forces of nature, I guess. I’ll have to look into Entropy and Arcane, but I remember Creation was basically healing. Maybe Spirit is too? Gah! I wish I had a book about this!”

The spirit smiled encouragingly at her.

“Which leads us to the Fade. What is the Fade made of? It’s clearly a source of energy, because all mages have to tap into it. But it’s interesting, and doesn’t seem to follow the laws of nature… well, most of the laws of nature, gravity still seems to have an effect. Maybe it’s like dark energy? That makes sense, especially if the theory of dark energy being made up of temporary particles that continually form and disappear is true. Isn’t that what happens in the Fade? Okay, see, that makes sense. I should give it a try tomorrow.”

She turned towards the spirit. “Thank you for your help. Will you teach me more about this world?

“As you wish. What would you like to know?” it answered in its ethereal, echo-y voice.

“Everything. Is there some sort of library in the Fade I can access, with the relevant information? I’m afraid my library only has books from my world.”

“The Fade reflects memory. Though you are a dreamer, your power has not yet been developed to a level where you can actively seek out what you wish to learn. You must ask the Wolf.”

She pouted. “I don’t want to.”

“He will not hurt you. He is intrigued by you. If you ask, he will help you.”

“He wants to see my dreams! I can’t allow that. What if he learns who I am and where I’m from? It would not work out well for anyone! Speaking of which… you won’t tell anyone - especially him - who I am, right?”

“Do not fear. He cannot see what you do not wish him to see. Your mind will protect what it wishes to remain concealed. If it still worries you, ask him to guide you. He will take you into his dream, and you can learn from him in the Fade. As for your secret, I will keep it. You have my word.“

“Thank you, Knowledge. Your help has been invaluable.”

“You are welcome. May I continue to visit you?”

“Yes, of course! I have much to learn from you, _elgar’falon_.”

“Thank you. I wait for your next visit. But I believe it is time for you to wake up,” he said gently, and she felt a line tugging at her consciousness. With a jolt, she opened her eyes to find sunlight streaming into the room, and the sound Helena’s gentle snores in the air.

_I cannot WAIT to try some magic today!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> elgar'falon - spirit friend
> 
> So, primary glioblastoma, stage four is, I believe, the most aggressive form of brain cancer someone can have. Patients have an average time of 14.6 months once they begin their treatment. The MGMT gene (full name O-6-methylguanine-DNA methyltransferase) encodes a protein that is involved in cellular defense against mutagenesis. Basically, if this gene is found to be inactive, turning it on means that chemotherapy is more effective for the patient, because the gene helps to repair the DNA damage to healthy cells that chemotherapy causes. 
> 
> Isn't biology cool? :D
> 
> I had a lot of fun thinking about the nature of magic, and the Fade. It always kind of bugged me that there's no explanation for the mechanism of magic, so... I made up my own. 
> 
> Suggestion, thoughts and comments always welcome! And to those of you from the US, happy fourth of July!


	12. Every Day Brings With It New Adventures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a regular old day in Haven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: as often as I can?
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

After taking a leisurely bath - bless Helena and Josephine for the wonderful bathtub, and Solas for his fire rune - and consoling Helena through her massive hangover, she headed towards the tavern, intending on grabbing a quick bite to eat.

She’d only just started walking towards the building when Solas fell into step with her. They walked in silence. Samarra had always been comfortable in silence, and where others would have tried to fill the gap in conversation with some random statement or another, she merely enjoyed the peace. She walked into the tavern, grinning as she recognized Maryden. _Ah, my dear minstrel. Which of my two favorite cinnamon buns will you end up with?_ She was strumming one of Samarra’s favorite songs from the game.

_Find me_  
 _Still searching_  
 _For someone_   
_To lead me_  
 _Can you_  
 _Guide me_  
 _To the revolt inside me_

She hummed along as she signalled to Flissa for her meal. _I wonder what those lyrics mean. Does ‘templar igniting fire inside me’ mean what I think it means? Damn, if it does, I bet Maryden’s got a tale or two I’d like to hear!_ She grinned to herself.

“You do that quite often,” Solas stated.

“Do what quite often?” she asked, confusion on her face.

“Smile to yourself. A secret, furtive smile, as though you have learned something interesting.”

She laughed out. “You’re making me out to be far more mysterious than I am, Solas.” she said.

“He’s right though, you do smile a lot. It’d be creepy if you didn’t have such a cute smile,” Varric teased, as he dropping into a chair next to her.

“I was just wondering why the minstrel was singing about templars igniting fires inside her,” she said, a mischievous grin on her face. “Really, I’m not as mysterious as you guys are making me out to be!”

Varric gave a snort of laughter. “Who would’ve thought the Oracle of Andraste had a dirty mind,” he guffawed. She swatted his arm. “I’m not some Oracle, okay? I’m just one of the village healers.”

“Who just so happens to see into the future?” he shook his head, before a considering look fell over his face, “Say, about this ability of yours… do you think it’ll help me with, uhh, certain investments?”

“Varric, I’m not helping you bet,” she said. “Well, I would, but I’d charge a commission.” she grinned cheekily.

He clapped her on the back. “Now we’re talking! So you’ll tell me if you see something interesting, right?”

“As long as you keep me out of any books you plan to write in the future,” she replied with a smile.

“Nahh, I couldn’t write about you. A mystery woman falling out of the sky, with strange markings and who gets visions of the future? Too unbelievable.” he shrugged. “The Herald, on the other hand… there’s possibility there.”

“Speaking of books Varric, I would love to read your books. Would it be possible for you get me copies of them? I’d be happy to cover the cost in installments, of course.”

“Don’t worry about that, Crimson. Buy me a couple drinks, and I’ll call it even. I’ll send a message out to my publisher. You’ll have them in a week or so. Anything specific?”

“Just trying to acquaint myself with Ferelden and Orlais history,” she said non-committedly. “I’d love a copy of The Champion of Kirkwall, but I’m not going to turn down an offer of books.

“You got it.”

“You sure you don’t want me to pay for them? Josephine’s giving me a salary for my duties as healer, so I’m not completely broke.”

“You ask me, it’s a crime how much they’re underpaying you,” Varric grunted. “Word around Haven’s that you’ve helped more than all the previous healers combined. Least they can do is acknowledge it. You keep your coin, Crimson; a couple rounds and a few games of Wicked Grace will do it for me.”

She reddened slightly. “... you’ll have to teach me Wicked Grace.”

He stared at her, dumbfounded, before breaking into a short laugh. “I keep forgetting you’re not like the Rivaini I know,” he chuckled. “‘Course, Isabela’s not your typical Rivaini either. We’ll have to do something about your dismal lack of knowledge in the matter, Crimson.”

“And I’ll be sure not to take too much of your coin in return,” she grinned.

“Ouch! You know, I’m having second thoughts here.”

She made a makeshift sandwich from the cheese, egg and bread Flissa had laid out in front of her. _I wonder if I could get Flissa to make an egg salad sandwich. I’d kill for one right about now._ She swallowed the bite she’d taken, and addressed Solas, who had been sitting quietly, listening in on their conversation as he tackled his meal of porridge. “Do you play cards, Solas?”

“As a wandering apostate, I have not been afforded many opportunities to learn,” he stated.

“Excellent! I’m not alone in my ignorance, then. Varric can teach the both of us!”

_Wait, why am I trying to include him? Isn’t it better if I stay away from him? On the other hand… if I’m around him more, maybe I can learn more about him. That’ll help, right?_

_You know he’s incredibly intelligent. Remember how Blackwall teaches him Diamondback, and Solas just crushes him?_

_Makes me wonder if he doesn’t already know how to play._

_How long has he been alive for? He most likely knows. I bet he thinks that all the cards games originated from the elves._ She stifled a laugh.

Solas was staring at her expectantly. “I’m sorry, what did you say? I missed it.”

The corners of his mouth turned upwards ever so slightly. “I said, you’re doing it again. The secretive smile.”

“Ah,” she laughed sheepishly. “I think you’ll have to get used to it.”

“Got anything interesting planned for the day, Crimson?” Varric asked.

“Oh, absolutely. I’m going to smack Leliana’s butt, then expose myself to Cullen’s recruits. And that’s only the morning schedule!”

Varric roared with laughter. “That’ll definitely shake things up around here. You remind me of Marian, you know. Woman’s got a snark streak that stretches from Denerim to Halamshiral.”

_Marian? I thought he always called the Champion Hawke?_ A ribbon of uneasiness unfurled in her stomach, but she ignored it. _Oh well. At least I know Hawke is female. Probably my sarcastic Hawke. Man, she was hilarious, it should be interesting meeting her! I wonder who she romanced? Probably Fenris._

“Well, gentlemen, the company’s been a pleasure, but I’m afraid I have people to see, things to do.” She left the tavern, heading towards the Chantry, when something struck her. _I should warn Leliana about the Hinterlands, she thought. If the scouts she sends are forewarned, there might be fewer losses. And I wonder if it’s too late to tell her about the rogue agent… Butler was his name, right? And he kills Farrier? If I can prevent it, an agent survives, and Leliana can interrogate Butler instead of killing him._

_But sparing Butler was the Herald’s job! If you interfere, will it stop her from being softened? You can’t afford to have a ruthless Leliana… I mean… she deserves better._

_Fuck. Umm. Okay, look. There are still other opportunities, right? But you know the guy is going to die, is sparing him such a bad thing? I mean, this might all be moot anyway. For all you know, Farrier might already be dead._

_You’re right, I guess._

_Damn right I am._

She strode over to Leliana’s tented base camp, catching the eye of the spymaster as she did so. Something in her expression must have alerted the Nightingale, because she broke away from the rest of her agents and walked towards her. Once they were out of earshot, Leliana spoke up. “I take it you have something to tell me,” she said.

“Yes. I believe you have sent out scouts to the Hinterlands. Tell them to be wary, the mages and templars in the region are out of control. Also…” she hesitated.

“What is it?” Leliana demanded.

“One of your agents - Butler is his name - is a traitor. He will kill another of your agents, by the name Farrier. You should have him investigated.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Why should I believe you?” she asked.

“You don’t have to. But I can guarantee you that if you don’t do something, you will lose Farrier. I can only tell you what I know. What you choose to do with it is up to you.” She turned to walk away, before changing her mind. “One last thing. Don’t kill Butler. It’s not worth it. Bring him in for questioning.” With that, she spun around and walked into the Chantry, aware of Leliana’s gaze on her back.

She knocked on Josephine’s door, walking in when the ambassador raised her head and smiled at her. “What can I do for you, Lady Samarra?” she asked.

Samarra let out a huff. “Please, just call me Samarra. I insist. I came by to ask for some journals and writing implements - I would like to keep patient records.”

“Oh yes, the Herald spoke to me about it yesterday. I was about to send someone to your room with them,” she said. “Along with some other items I believe you might find useful.”

“Oh uhhh, thanks,” Samarra stammered out, slightly taken aback.

Josephine continued, “I have also taken the liberty to have your measurements sent to the tailor. You should have a few new clothes by the end of the week, instead of having to wear cast-offs.” The ambassador lowered her eyes to the ground, sounding discomfited. 

“I appreciate it. Thank you, Josephine, truly. It doesn’t bother me to wear cast-offs, I know the Inquisition doesn’t have much in the way of resources at the moment.”

Josephine flushed. “Even so, we have a reputation to uphold. You are the Oracle, the protector of the Herald. It is only right you look the part.”

_Well, that’s a new job description. I bet that makes one hell of a statement on business cards._ “Josephine, while I am here to help the Inquisition, I’m also a healer. That isn’t the… cleanest… job.”

“I have taken care of it, not to worry. I have asked for coats similar to the one you were found wearing to be designed. That would serve the purpose, yes?”

“That’s… that’s actually perfect. Thank you.”

“Would you like to take the basket with you, or have it delivered to your chambers? It is rather heavy.”

“Can you please send it to my room? I want to check in on some of the patients.”

The ambassador’s eyes softened. “Of course. If you need any help, let me know.”

_Okay, it’s pretty impressive how capable Josie is. I mean, the game kind of indicated it, but it’s really amazing to see in-person just how on top of everything she is. No wonder the Inquisition had such amazing success with diplomacy._

Samarra checked in on her patients, relieved to see Ashalle sleeping peacefully - she frowned as she saw a sleeping draught on the floor near her bed, she would have to talk to Giles and Everna about it, no point in keeping the woman sedated. Sedrick was, to her disappointment, still asleep. At this point, she was sure there were no serious injuries that would cause his continued lack of consciousness, and she felt a twinge of worry. She examined him, double checking to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. _Everything looks good. Come on, dude. Wakey wakey. If you don’t make it I’m sure Leliana will have my skin, and I rather like my skin, mmkay?_

She joined Varric and a rather steely-faced Cassandra in the tavern for lunch. For once, she was content to listen to Varric’s tales, feeling slightly uncomfortable in the presence of the Seeker. She knew Cassandra was good hearted - heck, she liked Cassandra, the woman had always been close friends with all of her Inquisitors - but it was disconcerting to know the woman was not only wary of her, but had little trust in her.

Once Varric had wrapped up yet another outrageous tale - this time of how he’d outwitted assassins sent after him by the Merchant’s Guild after publishing the first of his Hard in Hightown books - Cassandra finally addressed her. “I hear you have proven yourself to be the healer the Inquisition needs.”

“Oh! Oh, ummm, thank you.” she stammered out.

“You should consider practicing your archery skills. I have no doubt we will be in need of them in the days ahead.”

“I’ve been meaning to, but I’ve been busy the past couple of days. I’ll start soon, either today or tomorrow,” Samarra commented with a frown.

“The Herald tells me you have dissuaded her from following the Templar path she was on. Why?” Cassandra bluntly asked.

“The Herald has heard my concerns. I have not dissuaded her; merely asked her to consider all her options before making a decision.” she said coolly.

“You misunderstand me. I agree that it is best for her not to become a templar. I only wondered if there was a vision that lead you to warn her.”

She looked at Cassandra. “Not a vision, exactly. More… a knowledge.” Her eyes conveyed what her words did not say, and Cassandra nodded as though her suspicions had been confirmed.

“I will stop by your room this evening,” she stated. “I suspect we need to talk.” The Seeker pushed back her chair, and left.

“What was that all about?” Varric asked, curious.

“I’m not sure,” she sighed. “But I think I’m about to get interrogated by an angry Seeker… again.”

Varric chortled. “Good luck with that, Crimson.”

_“Ugh.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RogueLioness: constantly providing all the imaginary dialogue. (can't help it, you guys, it runs through my head each time I sit down to write. bear with me?))
> 
> So is it just me who laughs whenever Maryden sings about "templar igniting fire inside me?" Because I do! I probably shouldn't seeing how it has the same tune as the Origins theme :/


	13. Those Who Do Not Believe In Magic Will Never Find It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I've got that magic in me_   
>  _Everybody knows I've got that magic in me_   
>  _Magic, magic, maaaaagic_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency - depends on my finger strength
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

She met up with Solas at their usual training spot. She wore a grin on her face, and he raised his brows at the sight. “You look quite confident, _da’lan_ ,” he commented.

“I feel confident,” she stated. “And you really should stop calling me a little child. I’ve told you before.”

He ignored her complaint. “That is a good start. We shall start by meditating, as you have been doing.”

“No,” Samarra said, shaking her head. “I want to try something different.”

She closed her eyes and focused on her surroundings. _Atoms and molecules_ , she thought. _The air is filled with them. Gases - definitely oxygen present, I’m still breathing, right? Let’s see if we can focus on that. She pictured the gas in her mind. Oxygen is atomic number eight. At standard temperature and pressure two atoms of the element bind to form dioxygen, a colorless and odourless gas. Third most abundant element in the universe, after hydrogen and helium. Major constituent of lifeforms._

She opened her eyes.

And gasped in shock.

She could see the molecules, packed together so tightly she could not make out one from another. _Everything_ was in its basic molecular state - the air, the ground, the trees, _even Solas_. She raised a trembling hand, and sure enough, she could see the basic molecular and atomic constituents that made up her bones, her muscles, her tissues, her blood, her skin.

It was overwhelming. Too overwhelming, and she turned sheet white, not registering as Solas ran to her side in alarm. She shut her eyes once again, holding off the collapse of her consciousness.

_Focus, Samarra. This is what you discussed with the spirit, remember? Everything is molecules. Now that you can see, you know what to do. Feel for your energy, your mana. Feel for the Fade._

She took in a deep breath. _Find your energy. You are energy, remember. Every cell inside you produces energy. Reach for it._ She was so close to passing out, but she gritted her teeth and focused, searching within herself for something.

_Energy is neither created nor destroyed._ There. There it was, thrumming deep inside her core, a pulsing bright light. She reached hesitantly for it. Once her consciousness had made a tentative connection with it, it swelled up, exploding in an intense glow to envelope her entire being. 

_At last,_ it seemed to say. _At last you have found me, and we are whole._

She could feel her magic, humming happily within her, so intertwined with her body that it seemed ridiculous to think that, only moments ago, she had had no idea what it felt like. And there, all around her, she could feel the Fade, held behind by the crystal curtain of the Veil. It tingled along her skin, trying to wrap itself around her like an affectionate cat would curl up around its owner. _Hello there_ , she thought, half-drunk with the sheer power of it all.

She reopened her eyes.

Everything was the same, yet different. The world was no longer molecules and atoms, but the awareness of them remained. There was so much more, so many more sensations, sights, smells, sounds. She looked around as though truly looking at the world for the first time.

She caught Solas’ eye, and the smile on his face was one of understanding, mixed with a little bit of gloating. She nearly laughed at the sight, but she was too entranced by this new world she had just discovered.

_Fire_ , she thought, holding her hand flat, palms up. And there it was, the tingle down her arm, the agitation of the Fade around her, and soon there was a perfectly controlled flame in the center of her palm. She knew instinctively that were she to cast out the flame, it would go as she desired it to, either as a fireball, or a wall of flame.

_Ice_ , she thought next, watching in fascination as the flame hissed and sputtered out, as the molecules in the air around her drew in the energy of the fade so that icicles grew in their place instead.

_Lightning_ , and the icicles were replaced by a sparks of electricity buzzing from her fingertips, the charged particles in the air resulting in the faint smell of ozone.

_Wind_ , and the sparks folded in on themselves, swirling round and round to form a tiny tornado in the flat of her hand.

_Earth_ , and the tornado condensed down, compressing itself till what remained in her palm was a smooth, flat rock, perfectly shaped to fit into her hand.

She looked at Solas, who stared back at her in shock. “How did you learn?” he whispered in awe. 

“I just… I just knew.” she stuttered.

“How do you feel? Are you tired in any way?” he asked.

She mulled over it. She was not tired; on the contrary, as impossible as it seemed, she felt more energized, more alive that she ever had. “No,” she said slowly. “I feel… quite the opposite, actually.”

He seemed to straighten up with excitement at her statement. “It is the rush of your mana. Once you become more familiarized with it, you will find a better balance.”

She frowned. “I like feeling this way. Feeling _alive.”_

He shook his head disapprovingly. “Come, let us practice. I need to understand how much you know, before I am able to teach you more.”

“Don’t I need a staff?” she protested.

“Did you need one to cast your magic?” he countered. “Do you feel as though you need one?”

“... not really,” she admitted.

“Practice first, Then we can determine everything after.” He walked a short distance away from her, and then turned to face her, staff in his hand, his eyes gleaming.

She suddenly was unsure about this whole ‘practice’ thing. He seemed too eager to spar against her.

Without warning, he shot flameballs at her as he had before, only this time she felt the disturbance in the environment before he cast, and was able to prepare herself for it. With a wave of her hand, she deflected them, and they struck the snowy ground, sizzling as they went out. She countered with spears of hard ice. With a small smile, he pushed his palm outwards and they melted before they could reach him. She felt him warp the Veil around her. _Shit, veilstrike_? She didn’t know how to counter that! Panicking, she pulled the air around her into a protective cocoon. She could feel the veilstrike vibrate through the cocoon, but the force of the punch did not reach her.. 

_Okay, that was pretty cool. Rift mages are pretty awesome._

She flung her hand out, casting strands of electricity to form a net over him. They fell over his barrier, outlining the neat shape of it, the strands glowing and sparking even more as they met his magic. She quickly followed up with several fist-sized rocks aimed at him. Most bounced off his barrier, but the last two managed to shatter it, and hurled towards his body. With a casual wave of his hand, he was able to deflect the first one, but the second one hit his thigh and he staggered.

“Woo!!!” she cried out, pumping her fist into the air. “I win!”

Unamused, he conjured up a cloud of snow over her head without her noticing. With flick of his fingers, it turned into water, and he had a wicked grin on his face when she yelped as the cold water fell on her. 

“That’s not fair!” she protested.

“A battle is rarely over with a single strike,” he reminded her. “You must always be on your guard.”

She grumbled, shivering as she stomped over to him. “Dry me off,” she demanded.

He quirked his brow. “Can you not do it yourself?”

“I would, but since you caused this it’s only fair that you clean up the mess.” she snarked.

Sighing, he heated the air around her so it would dry her wet clothing. “You have demonstrated an ability to understand the world around you,” he said, “and you seem to have control and a level of mastery over the elements. How did you manage to develop it overnight?” he asked, curious.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It just… clicked, I guess.”

“Clicked?” he gave her a confused look.

“As in, everything just fell into place on its own accord.”

“Nevertheless, you will need to hone your magic. You have the fundamentals, now you must learn the intricacies. The more complex spells require study and practice. There are also runes, glyphs and wards you will have to study. A staff would benefit you, especially if you plan to make your magic your primary means of offense. It will help you focus and localize your spells.”

She shook her head. “I won’t discard my bow.”

He gave her a funny look. “You are far more powerful with your magic than you could ever be with a bow,” he stated.

“Still,” she shrugged, “it seems silly that I should just give up archery. Porque no los dos?”

He cleared his throat. “In Common, please.”

_Bugger off, you old sod. If you can speak Qunlat I’ll bet all the hair on my head you can understand Spanish. Or in this world, Rivainese._

“I said, why not both? Can’t I have a bow that also serves as a staff, or something?”

His lips twitched in amusement. “I have never heard of such a thing. I doubt the blacksmith, as talented as he is, could craft something like that.”

She continued, undeterred. “In that case, I’ll use a staff for practice, and a bow out on the field. Make the best of both worlds.”

“On the field?” up went his brows.

She grinned mischievously. “By the end of the week, I suspect. You should be prepared, too.”

He narrowed his eyes at her - _there we go again_ \- but to her surprise, didn’t question her. “Come, let us go back,” he said. “It is getting late.”

“Sure,” she agreed, and fell into step with him. “Hey,” she asked, “Would you have any books about magic I could borrow?”

“I will put aside a few I believe would benefit you.”

“And… and will you teach me? About runes and glyphs and the like, I mean.”

“Of course. Though perhaps if we are to be travelling, as you have implied, it might be best if we moved our studies to the Fade.”

“That sounds like a good idea. I could use some help with the Fade, too.”

“Have you dreamed in the Fade yet?” he asked casually.

_Huehuehue I know what you’re actually asking, wolfy._

“I think so,” she said, wrinkling her forehead. “It was very… white.” _That’s technically true._

“Hmmm.” he seemed deep in thought. “I can search for you in the Fade, so we can commence our studies there. With your permission, of course.”

_Interesting. You need my permission to have access to my dreams? Maybe I’d like to keep you out of my head, Fen’harel._

“Can’t we just meet someplace? You know more about the Fade after all.”

“Very well. Seek me out in the Fade when you sleep tonight. It will be good practice for you.” He sounded disgruntled, and she had to stifle a smile.

“Okay,’ she replied breezily. “I’m going to have to-” The markings on her arm tingled. Her mind seemed to split into two, half of it aware of her surroundings, of the way she was walking, arms swinging, her strides long and sure, but the other half was projecting images, each flashing rapidly one after the other. She saw Ashalle sneaking out of the village that night into the forest, saw the image show the elven woman fashion a noose from the blanket she had wrapped around her, saw her hang herself out of grief and despair, her lifeless body swaying in the wind. 

“NO! STOP!” she flung out her hand as though trying to stop someone, unaware of the words sliding from her lips. The vision vanished from her mind, almost as though a switch had been turn off, and Samarra came back to herself, thoroughly shaken and unnerved, both by what she had seen and what had happened.

“What happened?” Solas asked, taking in her discomposed appearance.

“I… nothing,” she replied. _I can’t tell him_. She straightened. “I’m fine. Just a little tired. I thought… never mind. It was probably nothing.”

He was still suspicious, but chose to let it slide. “It must be the strain of the practice. You should get some rest.”

“I will. There’s someone I have to talk to first.” _I had a vision. A real, actual vision. What the everloving fuck is going on? I can speak languages I’ve never learnt. I can do magic - reasonably well, if Solas’ reaction was anything to go by. And now I’m actually having visions? CAN SOMEONE EXPLAIN TO ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? Anyone up there? Maker? Andraste? Whoever else, I dunno, Titans, or someone, if you can tell me what’s going on I’d be really grateful, because I’m completely confused right about now._

She strode over to the healer’s tent, pleased to see Sedrick awake and talking with Leliana. The spymaster gave her a warm smile, and she nodded in acknowledgement.

She pulled up a chair near Ashalle, and examined the woman, who was awake but had a blank, unaware look on her, as though she wasn’t registering what was happening around her. Samarra knew the woman was still in the shock of grief, just as she knew the woman was going to do something stupid and terrible if she didn’t stop it. _Pulse rate normal, eyes seem to be fine, reflexes are working as they should. Injuries have healed well._ “Okay, Ashalle, up you get.” Samarra ordered cheerfully, placing the woman’s arm around her shoulder. “Let’s see if your legs still work.” Ashalle blindly obeyed, placing her feet one after the other on the floor. Samarra helped up upright. “Great! Now let’s walk outside, shall we?”

_There’s strength in her muscles. Good. She can actually start moving around, start doing things. She needs to have something to occupy her mind._

“So, is there anything you are good at?” Samarra asked casually. 

“I was the apprentice to the healer of my clan,” she replied in a monotone. “Now I cannot go back. They will not have me. I am an orphan, and Varathorn’s father is the Keeper. When they learn of his death... they will call me cursed.”

“Their loss is our gain, then,” Samarra chirped. “I could use some help. Well, that settles it,” she said, patting Ashalle on the back. “You’re now my apprentice. No point in you staying in the healer’s tent when you’re good to go. You’ll be staying with the other healers. You’ll like them - Giles and Everna are really sweet. You must have met them, they’ve been checking up on you periodically. We’ll go over your duties tomorrow, but for now, I think you could use a good bath, some fresh clothes, and a hot meal - all in that order. Come, I’ll take you to your new quarters.” 

Ashalle shot a startled look at her. “My lady… I cannot… it’s not proper… “

“Oh, nonsense. You have skills as a healer, and the Inquisition could use all the healers we can get. Trust me, you’ll be doing us a favor.”

Leliana had come out of the tent, having clearly overheard their conversation. _Of course_. She pulled away Samarra some distance from the elven woman - who was terrified by the glare the Nightingale had given her - and hissed at her. “Are you insane? That woman was sent by her clan to spy on the Conclave! For all you know she intends to kill you and the Herald, and you want her to join the Inquisition?”

“First of all, it was her husband who was sent as the spy, not her. Second, I had a vision!” she hissed back. “The poor woman has just lost her husband and unborn child. If I leave her alone, she will kill herself! I can’t let that happen!”

Leliana backed down a little. “Will you vouch for her?” she asked.

“I do. She is not a threat.”

“Very well. In that case, I will have someone place an extra cot in the room assigned to the healers.”

“They won’t be too crowded, will they?”

“No, it will accommodate the three of them well.”

“Thank you, Leliana.”

The spymaster walked away, and Samarra let out a sigh of relief. “Glad that’s over with!” she told Ashalle cheerfully.

“Why are you helping me?” Ashalle asked, bewildered.

“Many reasons. We need the help, you’re a good woman, you’re capable, I like you and… “ Samarra dropped her voice, her tone stern. “What you were planning to do is _not_ what your husband would want.” 

Ashalle flushed and dropped her gaze. 

Samarra continued, more gently, “I will not ask you to stop grieving, Ashalle. And I wouldn’t have asked you to help if I didn’t actually need it. Haven is over its capacity, and as much as I would like to, I cannot tend to every single person who walks in through the gates.” 

“Thank you,” the woman whispered. “You have… been kind to me. I will… try.”

Samarra couldn’t help it. She pulled Ashalle into a hug, both for herself and the other woman. “I am here for you,” she said. “I care.” Pulling back, she smiled at the woman. “Come on, then!” she smiled, tugging Ashalle’s hand. “Let’s get you to your new quarters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH NOES WHATS GOING ON
> 
> Magic is all about them molecules, right?


	14. The World Is Full Of Things To Learn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen up, y'all, cuz this is it... we're about to learn stuff in the fade and shit.  
>  _fadelicious!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: reply hazy, try again later
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

Samarra walked the green, ghostly landscape of the Fade, searching for Solas. _I bet he’s hidden himself or something, she thought bitterly, as some sort of test. And if I fail, he’ll be all ‘Oh, I told you so, you have no experience, you should let me guide you, blah blah blah insert condescending comment here’. You can’t let that happen, you need to find him. So focus._

_Yeah, great help there, bucko. Let’s give you the Nobel Prize for Fade mechanics._

_Listen, smartass, you got a better idea?_

_Maybe I do._

She thought of Solas, picturing him. The area around her swirled and spun, making her slightly dizzy, and she found herself in their training ground, Solas standing before her.

“We need to practice,” he said, and she frowned. _Something’s not right_. He didn’t feel… like Solas. His magic was… odd.

“You’re not Solas,” she stated.

The figure in front of her shifted, and she found herself staring at a desire demon instead.

“You’re a desire demon,” Samarra gaped.

“And you are a difficult one,” it responded. “You want to master magic, do you not? I can grant it to you. If you let me, I can make you far more powerful than all the mages in Thedas combined. You will wield more power than your instructor. Everyone will bow to you.”

“I want it, sure. But I don’t _desire_ it,” she replied calmly. “I know I’ll get there in time, and the learning process is fun. I wouldn’t want to give that up.”

“Is it riches you desire then, coffers filled to the brim with gold, coin to spend as you wish, buy what pleases you. Silks and brocades, jewelry that gleams with stones brighter than the sun, fine wines, mansions, lands, love… anything can be bought for the right price, and I can give you the coin to do so.”

“Sounds fun, but too much hassle. I mean, imagine the responsibility that comes with managing that much money!” 

“Tell me what your heart desire then, and I will grant it to you.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Is that so?”

“Indeed.”

“Tell me about yourself.”

The demon looked confused. Samarra wanted to laugh, but wisely decided against it.

“I do not understand,” it replied.

“You were a spirit of purpose once,” she said gently. “What made you change?”

It blinked, and faltered. “I do not know. It was… long ago.”

“Did someone cause you to change?” Samarra inquired.

“I cannot remember,” it replied, then continued. “Do you not fear me? Most mortals do.”

“Desire can be detrimental,” she agreed. “But desire also creates ambition. Ambition creates motivation. Motivation sparks creativity… and can give one _purpose_. You twisted into desire, thriving on the darker wishes of baser men, but your alter ego did much the same, only purpose was drawn to the the motivation of good men. Desires are a dime a dozen, I suppose. Easier to find.”

There was a disturbance in the environment around her, and Solas manifested next to her. Warily, she faced him. He… seems to be the right version. _The aura is familiar._ She raised a brow. “I thought I was supposed to find you, not the other way around.”

“When you failed to find me, I searched for you,” he snapped. “And it was a good thing too, seeing how you’re caught up in the trap of a desire demon.”

“What? No! Nothing like that at all. I was just talking to her!”

“You were… conversing… with a desire demon?” he asked, his eyebrows nearly reaching the top of his forehead.

“Yes! I was just asking her what caused her to turn into a desire demon. I’m sure spirits of Purpose are rare, and it’s a little disheartening to find one that’s been corrupted, you know?” She turned to face the demon again. “Seriously, though, I mean… Purpose is so much cooler than being some stupid desire demon.”

“We are leaving. Now.” he hissed, and grabbed her arm.

“You can change your mind, you know!” she called out, even as the green fog of the Fade swirled around her. She found herself by the bank of a river, the sun high up in the air, fresh, soft grass beneath her feet. The sounds of a forest surrounded her, calming her with its gentle, soothing murmurs.

The calm was shattered moments later by the sound of Solas’ angry voice. “What were you thinking, trying to hold a conversation with a powerful demon when you barely have any semblance of control over your own magic?”

“Hey!” she protested. “I have decent control. You told me that.”

“This is the Fade, not a training ground! And that was a demon you have never faced before! Your foolishness could have caused you great harm - or worse, you could have become possessed!”

“I was only trying to find out more about it!”

“And in doing so, you inadvertently gave it what it wanted, which was to learn of your desires!.”

She grimaced. “I… never thought of that.”

“Only a child or an utter fool would do what you did, and since you are clearly no longer a child, I can only assume that something lacks in your mental acumen!”

“Okay, first of all, _rude_. I was genuinely interested in knowing more about it, and I may have been a little bit foolish in how I went about it. But that was once a spirit of Purpose, and I refuse to believe that there’s no way it cannot revert back to what it was. If Purpose can get corrupted to become Desire, what will it take for Desire to become Purpose once again? You can’t mean to tell me that demons are fated to remain demons! That’s like saying a man who’s done something wrong will always continue to do something wrong. Life is about _change_ , and I intend to find out how to convince demons to revert to their original noble purpose.”

His mouth twisted down into a frown. “You have only had your magic for a single day and already you aspire to the unknown. You are far more foolish than I imagined.”

“Everyone has to start somewhere, right? I’m already a little smarter than I was before meeting the demon. I wouldn’t call that foolish, I’d call it a learning process. What is your problem, anyway?” she demanded. “Thank you for helping me, but you don’t have to be such a… a… a… _gah_!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. “You make me so frustrated I can’t even think of a suitable word to call you!”

“Calm down,” he commanded. “You are causing the fade to shift. Are you aware you are a Dreamer?”

She threw her head back and groaned. “Of course. Of course I would be. Mage first, somniari second, what’s next? My true form is elf? Qunari?” The moment she thought of Qunari, the scene shifted, and they found themselves in the Storm Coast, rain pelting them hard.

_Fuck._

Solas looked at their surroundings with interest. “Fascinating. It seems as though something in your memories triggered at the mention of Qunari, bringing us here. Where are we?” he asked.

_FUCK. FUCK. FUCK!_

“Nowhere,” she muttered. “Can we get out of here? I don’t like the rain.”

In a few moments, they had returned to his peaceful forest. “Where are we?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you, if you tell me,” he countered with a smile.

“Never mind, then.” she grumbled under her breath.

_“Ma nuvenin.”_

“Smartass.”

“It is only fair,” he grinned ever so slightly. “Now, what was it you wish to learn?”

“What is most important? Runes, glyphs or wards?”

He sat on a large rock by the river bank. “We will start with wards, since they are the least complex. Wards are divided into four categories: offensive, defensive, protective and alarm. Their functions are as their names suggest. Offensive wards serve to attack anyone who steps on them. An offensive ward could be one that, for example, sends a large electric shock through someone who steps on them. A defensive ward could be one that causes a wall of ice to form around either the attacker, or the one being attacked. An alarm ward alerts the caster that something undesirable is approaching his or her way. A protective ward is of two kinds - one, the kind that shields the physical body from harm, two, the kind that protects the mind and keeps demons from approaching and interacting with the caster.”

She seated herself on a opposite to him, pulling off her boots and dipping her toes into the pleasantly cool water. “What is the difference between a defensive ward and a protective ward? They both sound the same.”

He smiled, as though pleased with her question. _Solas Greatly Approves, I guess?_ “A good question. Defensive wards usually have an elemental basis, while protective wards have a spirit basis.”

“So defensive wards would invoke similar magic families as offensive wards, only their purpose is different? While protective wards are more barrier in nature?”

“Yes, exactly. You have grasped the concept well.”

“How are they cast?”

“They are area-of-effect spells that need to be traced onto a surface. You do not have to leave an imprint of any kind, but you do need a staff. The base of the staff is used to trace a sigil on the ground. As you trace the sigil, you infuse your magic into it, which then spreads out over a little distance.”

“So if I want to, say, ward an area three meters wide, I wouldn’t have to trace a sigil that big?”

“You would not have to. The smaller the tracing, the more magic you have to infuse into the sigil so that it can spread out. You can trace a sigil that big, but it would take more time and effort. It is easier to just do the smaller version and have your magic leach outwards from it, so to speak.”

“How do you know how much mana will be needed to create a ward of a certain size?” she asked, leaning towards him in her curiosity.

Again, he gave her that approving look. “Practice. Which is what we will be doing now.” He materialized two basic staffs, and handed one to her. “You really must look into obtaining a staff for yourself,” he chided her.

“I’ve been meaning to, but I’ve been preoccupied with other matters. I’ll go to Harritt tomorrow, though. I’ve been wanting to ask him for a bow as well.”

“Please refrain from asking him to construct a staff-bow,” he smiled mischievously. It made him look young, and for a moment she saw the cocky younger version of him. It sent a pang through her heart. _You should smile more often, Solas. It suits you._

“I’ll try,” she replied dryly.

He first traced out all the patterns to show her the different types, then patiently guided her as she tried to replicate them. He was an excellent teacher, always testing her and challenging her mind, but never pushing her towards something she could not handle. She found herself enjoying the lesson greatly, and they shared more than a few chuckles over some of her more erroneously amusing attempts to master the wards.

Their practice session eventually moved towards a discussion again, when she broached the idea of possible combining two or more wards together.

“Think about it, Solas,” she urged. “An alarm/protection combination would work well if someone was to camp out, right? Not only would it warn you about someone coming, but it would also protect you at the same time. Or, what if an assassin tried to strike? The combined ward would be really useful!”

He mulled it over. “An interesting concept. It would be difficult to combine the two, however, given the intricacy of each.”

“There has to be a reason behind the designs of each ward. Has anyone looked into trying to unravel them? What if you could create a simpler version of the wards? It may not be possible to combine the more complex versions, but surely the simplified sigils could be intertwined.”

He stared at her as though seeing her for the first time. “That… is a possibility I admit I have never considered. It would be an interesting project.”

“Right? I wonder where we can start. Are there any books on this subject?” she asked excitedly.

He smiled at her enthusiasm. “Yes, I believe so. The physical copies are far, far away, but I believe I can reproduce a copy in the Fade.”

“Yes!” she fist pumped. “Do you think I can have access to your Fade library?” she asked with a sheepish smile.

He looked at her calculatingly. _Here it comes_ , she thought, a slight bitterness in her chest. _He’ll ask for something in return._

_You can’t blame him. I mean, you’ve asked him for something, he’s well within his rights to ask you to return the favor._

_No, I know_. She sighed internally. She’d just been having… so much fun talking with him. It was nice to have someone she could connect with on an intellectual level, someone who was as eager to experiment and learn as she was.

“Of course,” he replied, a small smile on his face. “I admit it is a… pleasant change to have someone I can converse with on subjects such as these.”

His smile drew an answering one from her. “I was just thinking the same,” she admitted.

His smile grew wider. “As interesting as this has been, I believe it is time for you to _wake up_.”

She opened her eyes, smiling to herself. _You cheeky old bugger_ , she thought, with a hint of affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
>  _Ma nuvenin_ \- As you wish
> 
> I wasn't sure at first whether I wanted to include in-depth discussions about magic things, because 1. I don't have much clue as to what Bioware thinks about magic, and 2. it can get boring. But hey, two geeks meeting and _not_ nerding out seemed impossible, so, here you go, more of my non-canon magic theory.


	15. The Only Impossible Journey Is The One That Was Never Begun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~~Scooby~~ Samarra and the gang leave for the Hinterlands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update Frequency: _la la la I can't hear you_
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

“So, when do we leave for the Hinterlands?” Samarra asked with a yawn, rubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes.

Five pairs of eyes stared back at her. “How did you know?” Cassandra asked.

She yawned again. _Man, I might need to not stop by the tavern before Fade lessons_. “Vision. Meeting Mother Giselle, right?”

Leliana rolled her eyes. “Perhaps we should just have you tell us what to do,” she remarked dryly.

“No can do.” she replied.

“Why not?” Cassandra demanded. “If you can see things in the future, should we not use it to our advantage?”

_Oh man, it is way too early, and I am way too hungover to have this talk now_. Samarra sighed. “I have some vision, yes. But here lies the problem. If I were to tell you, for example, that Cullen, if you had a fight with Cassandra you would win, would you truly do everything in your power to make sure you could win? Would you train and practice? Or would you merely be complacent over the fact that I had seen your victory, and not prepare well?”

Leliana caught on. “So what you’re saying is that if you tell us about a vision, we might take it for granted, and in doing so, change the future?”

“Exactly. You cannot afford to rest on the visions I have. I see the visions on the basis of you having followed a certain path. If I tell you the outcome, you might inadvertently take a different path, which would lead to a different outcome.”

“Then of what use are your visions?” Cassandra exclaimed.

“I am here to guide you. I will tell you whether or not you are on the right path. If you desire a certain outcome, I will help you achieve it. If I can prevent a death with what I see, I will.” She sighed deeply, and ran a hand through her hair. “But there are some things that are inescapable. And your visit to the Hinterlands, Helena, is one of them.”

Everyone but Helena was unconvinced. She shook her head and exhaled. “Look, I use my knowledge where it helps. I told you about the Pride demon, yes? And Leliana, did I not warn you about the mages and templars in the Hinterlands? And about Butler? I don’t know what more you all want from me. I’ve done nothing but be helpful, but the fact that you have such little faith and trust in me is, frankly, getting on my nerves.”

Helena piped up. “I think everyone’s just absorbing the fact that you can see into the future, but we can’t use it.” she soothed.

“But we can, just… not the way you want. If I see a vision involving all of you, I’m not going to tell any of you about it, because you’re all involved in it. But that doesn’t mean I, or someone else, can’t do something about it. Do you understand what I’m getting at?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve the persons directly involved in a situation, others can subtly interfere and manipulate things?” Leliana asked.

“Yes. And _that_ is what I will try to do.”

Josephine cleared her throat. “While I cannot claim to fully understand the current discussion, it seems to me we should get back to the matter at hand.”

“Yes,” Cassandra agreed. “Solas has mentioned that a second attempt to close the Breach will be successful, but says the mark will need more power - the same amount of power that was used to create the Breach in the first place.”

“Which is why we must talk with the mages,” Leliana continued.

Cullen objected. “I disagree. The templars could serve just as well. They can suppress the Breach, and weaken it so that the power of the Anchor would suffice to close it.”

“Pure speculation,” Leliana scoffed.

“I think you have bigger problems at the moment,” Samarra interjected. “Neither group will even speak to you at the moment, correct?”

“That is so,” Josephine stated. “The Chantry has denounced us - especially the two of you.”

“Wait, what?” Samarra exclaimed, just as Helena burst out, “They still think we did it?”

“You are aware that there are people who call you Herald and Oracle of Andraste, yes? The clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.”

“Let me guess,” Samarra declared dryly, “none of you have stopped the rumor from spreading.”

Cassandra nodded. 

Helena sighed. “Let’s not waste more time discussing this. Samarra, what do you believe we should do?”

“Take Leliana’s advice. Talk to Mother Giselle. While you’re in the Hinterlands, plan on staying a while longer. You’ll have to help bring some order and stability to the region.”

“Yes, it is advisable that you seek out opportunities to expand our influence in the region,” Josephine agreed. “That will persuade the mages and templars that we truly do seek to restore order, and hopefully serve to open up conversation channels.”

“You’ll also find horsemaster Dennet in the region. He has some of the best mounts in Ferelden. If you talk to him, he might be willing to provide the Inquisition with more horses.” Cullen added.

“Where can we find this Mother Giselle?” Helena asked.

“She is tending to the wounded, near Redcliffe. My scouts have set up a base camp in the region, and will be able to give you better directions.”

Helena turned to Samarra. “Have you had any visions as to what we’ll need?” she teased.

Samarra was somber. “Whoever you take with you needs to have good, sturdy armor, and solidly crafted weapons. The region is unstable, and there will be plenty of fights.”

Helena gnawed her lip, lost in thought. Finally, she spoke up. “I know you’ve set yourself up as healer in the village, but I really would like you to accompany me, if possible.”

_Umm, that means I get to check out the Hinterlands. Awesome! On the other hand, we’re going to be facing mages and templars and bandits. That means… a lot of killing. You’ll have to kill people. Real people. It’s not going to be like ‘oh you tried your best treatment but it didn’t work and they died’ kind of thing, it’s going to be more of ‘I’m going to shoot this arrow straight into your skull’. Can you handle that?_

_I… I don’t think so. But the thing is, I’m going to have to get used to it. We know that. When Haven falls, we all have to fight. We’re going to see a lot of action. And you know, it might be a good time to learn some healing spells._

_Well, that’s true enough._

_Hah, I totally got one over you!_

_We’re the same person, dummy._

_Still._

She zoned in to find everyone staring expectantly back at her. “I don’t have any objections per se,” she cautiously began, “Most of the patients with major injuries have been discharged, and the other healers can handle the minor ailments. And I’ve been training with Solas enough to have a decent grasp on my magic abilities. What you have to consider is that I’ve never really killed a person before, and, uh… I’m not sure if, you know… if I can handle it. For all you know, I might be a liability.”

“You will have to get used to it,” Leliana briskly stated, “and you won’t be alone.”

Helena nodded. “Cassandra, Solas and Varric will be coming along, as well.”

She smiled faintly. “I guess that settles it, then.”

Cassandra took charge. “We don’t have enough mounts for each of us, which means we’ll be walking. It will take us about a week to reach the base camp in the Hinterlands. I suggest we leave as soon as we can.”

_Whoa whoa whoa back up. A week? As in, seven days of walking? Followed by even more walking in the Hinterlands? Fuuuuuuuuck. I mean, I should have expected it, I guess. Why else would we need to meet Dennet? Man, that is going to suck major balls._

“Harritt is in the process of crafting some gear for me, it will take a few days before he is done. And I will need to instruct the other healers on protocols they should follow.” Samarra commented.

“We’ll leave in five days time, then. Would that suffice?” Cassandra asked.

“It should, yes.” she replied.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

They met by the main gates as the first rays of sunlight peeked through the horizon. Samarra was considerably more alert than Varric and Helena - Solas had shifted their training lessons to the early morning so that she could have time to train Ashalle, Everne and Giles. She’d also used their new timetable to practice archery with her new bow. It had taken a day or two to familiarize herself with the weapon, but soon it had become familiar to her. Harritt had even crafted her a notched grip that she could use to carry the bow on her back. 

She’d actually had a lot of fun talking about armor and weapons with Harritt. Despite her misgivings, he’d understood what she wanted from a compound bow, and they’d worked together to come up with a design that would work. Given their lack of access to some of the more lightweight metals, Harritt had settled on a bow with a wooden core, covered in a thin sheet of onyx. She’d been surprised to find that it actually was a metal, given that on Earth onyx was a gemstone. It was black metal with a dull sheen that appeared almost matte. Instead of the traditional cams, the blacksmith had opted to insert a modified rivet, almost like a screw, that would allow her to reduce the draw weight required to achieve full draw of the bow while allowing her to adjust the tension without requiring other tools. He’d been so impressed with her explanation that he’d promised to talk to the armoury and get them to incorporate the modified design into the bows for all the Inquisition archers. The split design of the riser, with a band of thin wood across, would serve as a modified arrow rest and bow sight. The string would be made of ram sinew, a fact which made her feel rather queasy, but she’d agreed with the blacksmith that neither linen, silk nor rawhide would work as well. She’d asked him to make it look pretty, to which he’d scoffed, but had finally grudgingly agreed to. She’d asked him to notch her arrows at the end, since she wouldn’t have a nocking loop on the string, and he’d taught her how to whittle arrows. “In case you need to add to your supply,” he’d said, handing over a small, sharp dagger to her. 

Her armor was lightweight and durable, lambswool covered with druffalo hide. Harritt had walked her through the process of creating the druffalo leather, at her request, and she’d learnt that the hide was treated first with brine, then tea, to produce a leather that was soft, sturdy and waterproof. Her bracers would be made of canine leather, polished to a high sheen. Apparently, canine leather was stiffer than druffalo hide, which would better protect her arms. He’d also promised her a pair of gloves crafted with dragonling scales - he’d been very insistent that her hands would get “nothing but the best” to protect her “healing hands”. All in all it was a rather fascinating learning experience. By the time they had finished up the designs and her measurements, it was a safe bet to say that the blacksmith liked her.

As she loaded her pack onto their pack horse, she caught Cassandra’s eye. The Seeker gave her an abrupt nod, and continued with her inspection of their supplies. Samarra had packed most of what she currently owned into the small rucksack tied to the horse. It contained mostly essentials, but she’d also slipped in _The Comprehensive Field Guide to Thedosian Flora_ , along with her journal and pen. 

Writing implements in Thedas weren’t on par with the ink pens found back home, but they were crude versions of them. They seemed to range from quills, cut into the shape desired with small pen knives - those seemed to be the most common, since feathers were readily available - but Josephine had given her a rather splendid one, made entirely of metal, with pretty floral designs carved along the surfaces. The nib was also made of metal, similar to those on Earth, and it had a thin tube that served as a well for the ink. Refilling the tube was definitely a task, though, and the ambassador had kindly given her a glass eye dropper to help her. It felt good to hold something familiar in her fingers as she took notes, even if the weight of it hindered her writing speed.

Since she was currently wearing her armor, the pack wasn’t unbearably heavy, although she suspected that hiking with it would be a struggle. Given that the Inquisition coffers were lean, they would be camping at nights, instead of staying in inns.

They set off with little fanfare, only the Commander and Leliana seeing them off. The first few miles were covered in silence; Cassandra’s warning about bandits had made them wary, and their eyes scoured their surroundings in apprehension. Samarra passed the time by taking in her companions. She noted that Cassandra had not opted for new armor, instead sticking with the same armor she had been sporting when Samarra had first laid eyes on her. Varric wore a coat much like hers, but he’d chosen to leave the buttons undone. She shook her head in amusement. Gotta let the world see that magnificent chest. His bracers were larger than hers, probably because he needed to rest Bianca across them. Helena was sporting new armor as well, made from material much like the Seeker’s. Her sword was sheathed at her waist, the hilt bearing the Trevelyan crest. She recalled the Trevelyan motto: _Modest in temper, bold in deed._

Finally, she shifted her focus on Solas. His mage armor coat was primarily made of lambswool, panelled rather fetchingly with leather, and reached well below his knees. _Truly, he is a wolf in sheep’s clothing_ , she thought, her lips quirking up at the corners. His staff was slung across his back, the wood smooth and polished, clearly well-taken care of. The crystal at its tip was the size of her fist, and gleamed pleasantly.

As for her bow… well, she was pleased. Despite his grumbles, Harritt had done a great job in making it look fetching. _It looks like the Longshot from the game_ , she thought happily. Solas had given her a somewhat disapproving look when he saw it, but she didn’t care. 

When the sun was high up in the sky, they stopped for lunch by the edge of a stream, taking the opportunity to refill their waterskins. Their meal was a measly affair of bread and cheese; whatever jerky they had would be saved for a later time.

When the resumed their journey, Varric stepped in line with her. “So, got any interesting stories?”

She chuckled. “Aren’t you supposed to be the storyteller?”

“We all got stories, Crimson.”

“I suppose that’s true. Is there something you want to know?”

“What was it like, growing up with someone who claimed to be from another world?”

Samarra frowned. _Of course he’d go there. Well, I pretty much dug myself a grave, now I have to lie in it_. “There wasn’t anything unusual, if that’s what you mean. I mean, sure, we lived on the village outskirts, and sure, we rarely had visitors, but we were too busy living day-to-day for me to really wonder about things, you know? And when I was old enough to understand that things weren’t exactly normal, I couldn’t do much to change them.”

“You know, you seem awfully at ease around people.”

She rolled her eyes. “Apparently, I’m an anomaly, since you’re not the first person to tell me that. We travelled often to Ayesleigh, my mentor and I. It’s not like I never interacted with people, just… not the ones in the village.”

“Did your mentor not catch the templars attention?” Cassandra asked curiously, having followed their conversation.

“No, why should they have? She was no mage, and at the time, neither was I. When I left for the Conclave however, I barely escaped with my life. Ayesleigh was filled with templars and Seekers, all eager to feed their weapons with the blood of apostates. Dairsmud Circle had fallen, and they were celebrating the fact. I suppose they had not been satiated by all the mages they had just finished slaughtering.”

Cassandra looked abashed. “The Conclave would have brought an end to the war,” she muttered.

“The conflict will only end when the Chantry recognizes that mages are people too, not animals meant to be herded into well-guarded pens. Look, this topic is distasteful to me. Let’s change the subject.” 

“Know any good songs?” Varric asked. _Bless you, Varric_. She was most definitely not a fan of the Chantry, and their treatment of mages had always galled her. She knew Cassandra was a good hearted woman, but even so, the Seeker’s opinions of mages never quite sat right with her. When playing the game, she’d always hoped that the woman’s opinions of mages had improved by the end. It certainly had seemed that way, given the in-game high-approval friendship dialogue all her mage characters had received from the Seeker. _Then again, this isn’t a game. You have to remember that._

“I know several,” she said with a smile. “Some of them aren’t Rivaini, though. The ones my mentor taught me, that is.”

“You keep referring to the woman who brought you up as your mentor, rather than mother. Why is that?” Solas asked her, curiosity writ on his face..

She shrugged. “It was never a secret between us that I was not her child. She was kind and caring, but it always felt to me that our relationship was more teacher-student than mother-daughter.”

“How about that song, then? Varric grinned. 

“Sure, why not,” she said easily. “Let’s see. Ummm… oh, I got one!”

_Run, run, run away_  
_Buy yourself another day_  
_A cold wind’s whispering secrets in your ear_  
_So low only you can hear_

_Run, run, run and hide_  
_Somewhere no one else can find_  
_Tall trees bend and lean pointing where to go_  
_Where you will still be all alone_

_Don’t you fret my dear_  
_It’ll all be over soon_  
_I’ll be waiting here for you_

_Run as fast as you can_  
_No one has to understand_  
_Fly high across the sky from here to kingdom come_  
_Fall back down to where you’re from_

_Don’t you fret my dear_  
_It’ll all be over soon_  
_I’ll be waiting here for you._

The silence that fell after she finished was slightly unnerving. “You’ve got some voice, Crimson,” Varric said at last. “But that was a pretty sad song.”

“There’s a lot of sadness in the world, Varric.”

“Ain’t that the truth, Crimson. Ain’t that the truth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked me in the comments if Samarra was ever going to sing. I promise I had this chapter written before I saw your comment.
> 
> Song: Kingdom Come by The Civil Wars (modified slightly to suit the story flow)
> 
> I know this chapter has quite a bit of minor details. I like minor details. Sorry?
> 
> In case you're interested in what the Longshot looks like: http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/dragonage/images/1/19/Silent-Jenny.png/revision/latest/scale-to-width-down/270?cb=20150125045023. Samarra's bow would have two large-ish screws at the top and bottom (the modified cams).


	16. There's A Lot More To Camping Than Marshmallows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So many new things to learn when you're on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: muhahahaha
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> You guys. How do I have 40 bookmarks? And so many kudos? Mind = blown. Thank you to each and every one of you who reads this story. I still can't believe it. Thank you to all of you who leave comments and kudos. I love hearing from you, and it amazes me that some of y'all think that this... somewhat slightly crazy stuff I write is actually good. You're all the best ❤

When the sun hung low in the sky and the light began to dim, they searched for a suitable place to set up camp. They found a nook sheltered by large outcroppings of rock, a space that offered protection from the cold evening wind. It was surrounded by trees, offering them some amount of privacy.

The pack horse was hitched to a tree, and the women unloaded their supplies from the horse as Varric and Solas went out in search of game. Samarra used her newly-controlled magic abilities to clear the ground of snow, rocks and debris, and also to set up a warm, cozy fire. Cassandra and Helena quickly and efficiently set up the tents, and they all eagerly removed their armor. The two warriors dragged over their chest plates and gauntlets over by the fire to polish and clean them. Samarra peeled off her hunters coat, grimacing slightly as the faint odour of stale sweat rose from the cloth. _One day of wear and it’s already beginning to smell. I’m going to smell like a sewer by the end of this,_ she thought, wrinkling her nose in distaste. 

_Or… you could just ask Solas. He’d probably know spells on how to clean it without water, and how to prevent it from getting dirty in the first place._

_Why didn’t I think of that?_

_Technically, you kind of did._

_I’m weird, aren’t I?_

_Not going to argue with you there._

She folded it and placed it by her bedroll in the tent she was to share with the other women, grinning when she saw Cassandra had claimed the roll in the center, right in front of the opening flap. _Even in sleep, defend the Herald, I guess._ She pulled out the book from her pack, and grabbing her waterskin, made her way back to the fire, settling as comfortably as she could before it. A strange sound had them all glancing up, on edge, and she saw Cassandra slowly reach out for her sword.

The tension dissipated when Varric and Solas stumbled into view, holding a dead ram between them. “Got lucky,” the dwarf panted. “This one was pretty close to camp.” He proceeded to clean and skin it, much to Samarra’s horrified fascination. She ate meat, but back home her meat came cleaned and pre-packaged neatly, and at Haven, it had come pre-cooked. To see for herself the process involved was… definitely something. Varric proceeded to expertly break it down, and soon large pieces of the meat were roasting over the fire. _That… actually smells pretty good_ , Samarra thought, surprised. _Like barbeque, almost._

The evening passed by rather pleasantly, and for some time Samarra even forgot their mission. It felt like just a plain old camping trip. She was hoping to read her book, but was instead caught up listening to the tavern tale Varric was spinning. Then they’d all drifted into amicable conversation, and soon they all found themselves yawning.

Cassandra decreed that they would have to set up watches. “Samarra, you will have to take a watch with someone. You lack experience, and it is not safe for you to keep watch alone.”

“Okay,” she said meekly. 

“I will take the shift with the Oracle,” Solas spoke up smoothly. “It will afford us time to discuss magical theories.” Samarra was quick to claim the last shift, theorizing that she could spend time in the Fade learning from Solas, then using the watch to practice a little bit. Plus, she was completely exhausted - walking all day was not something her body was used to. Judging by the slight lift at the corner of Solas’ mouth, she figured he must have followed her thought process. She followed Helena into the tent, curling up gratefully into the bedroll despite the hardness of the ground, and soon slipped into sleep.

* * *

“So, are we going to talk about something new today, or is it going to be yet another day of practicing wards?” Samarra asked, swinging her legs as she grinned up at him.

He gave her a mildly disapproving look. “You should have been with me when I set the wards around the camp,” he chided her. “It would have been good practice for you.”

“Shit!” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe I forgot! I’m sorry, I meant to, but I was so tired.”

“Tomorrow, then,” he said, letting her off the hook. “Today, we will talk about glyphs.”

“I thought you said glyphs were the most complicated? Why not discuss runes first?”

“Because runes are modified glyphs. While glyphs are static, drawn to affect a static environment, runes are portable.”

“Are there any other differences between runes and glyphs,” she asked. Already, she was leaning closer to him, the excitement of discussing a new subject having overcome her. He smiled at her enthusiastic eagerness. “Yes. The effects of a glyph last longer than those of runes. Runes have to be periodically recharged - especially those attached to weapons, but they can be recharged. Alternatively, they can be replaced once they lost their effectiveness. Glyphs, on the other hand, have a longer duration, but once their effects wear out, they have to be replaced.”

“Is there a reason for the discrepancy, especially given that they’re essentially mostly similar?”

“I believe it is because glyphs are hindered by the material they are drawn on. A wind glyph, for example, that will create a pleasant breeze in an area, would have to be drawn on the roof, or the wall. Runes, on the other hand, are created from special materials. Even the most common rune requires a kind of runic stone.”

“I think I get it. What are these runic stones made of?”

“We drift too much into the subject of runes. We will talk more about that when we discuss runes. For now, let us focus on glyphs.”

She pouted, but agreed. “Fine.”

“The magic in a glyph can be constant, or it can lie dormant. In the case of dormant glyphs, the glyph is activated when it is read or approached.”

“Oh! You mean like veilfire runes?” she exclaimed.

He looked slightly taken aback. “You know about veilfire runes?”

“I’ve only heard of them, never seen them. Veilfire runes can convey more than the literal meaning of their text. They can transfer a tangible impression of sights, sounds, and even emotions on the reader.”

“Yes,” he cleared his throat, “they were perfected by the elves, but the use of veilfire as a medium for writing has been lost through the ages. Veilfire runes can be glyphs written with veilfire, instead of magic. Although I suppose one can say that they do involve a certain amount of magic, as veilfire itself can only be conjured up by mages. However, they are not similar to dormant glyphs, because more often than not, veilfire runes are simply writing, much as you would take notes in a journal. What we refer to as veilfire runes today was simply another way for the elves in ancient times to take notes.”

“Hang on,” she said, brow wrinkling in confusion. “The ancient elves used veilfire to take notes? But what would they write on? Veilfire is still… well, fire, isn’t it?”

He smiled a tad condescendingly. “Veilfire was used to inscribe walls, monuments and plaques, to record the deeds of the gods, or the heroics of a noble. It could convey to the reader the sights and sounds of a glorious battle, or the devotion that supplicants held towards their god.”

“So it was a fantastic way to capture in full the truly worthy moments of an empire?”

“A simplistic way of explaining it, but yes.”

“So no one’s ever actually tried writing glyphs with veilfire?” she asked, somewhat baffled.

“It has been done, although most of the glyphs used for the purpose were highly offense-oriented. For example, nobles in ancient times would surround their chambers, as well as the chambers of their loved ones, in veilfire glyphs that would instantly kill an unwelcome intruder. Or glyphs that would, upon approach, activate barriers around an area.”

“Offering protection against would-be assassins, I presume?”

“Yes. Nevertheless, we are, once again, drifting away from the subject. Getting back to the subject of glyphs-”

“Will you teach me?” she interrupted. “How to create veilfire runes and glyphs, that is.”

He sighed heavily. “First we must focus on the basics,” he stated, giving her an impatient look. “There are hundreds of glyphs, each serving a different purpose. Glyphs are either domestic in nature, or used as a shortcut to cast spells. A truly accomplished mage will have at their disposal, hundreds of spells, without having to memorize each, simply by virtue of recalling the glyph associated with each.”

“But I thought you said that glyphs had to be drawn onto something. How can you cast spells using one? Where would you ‘write’ the glyph?”

“The air is the medium you write on. Once you have finished writing, you would use the energy of the Fade to direct it towards your enemies.”

“I’m rather confused,” she confessed.

“It is not as complex as you think it to be,” he said. “This, for example,” he continued, drawing a simple symbol on the ground in the space between them, “is a warmth glyph. Can you feel how it heats up the area? Would you agree it feels pleasant? That would be used domestically, whereas this one,” he erased the glyph with a wave of his hand, and drew a more complex symbol in the air. When he was done, he directed it onto the ground a distance away from them, and as the symbol touched the earth, it glowed bright and red hot for an instant. “That would be the spell for casting a fire mine.”

“Okay, I think I got it. So domestic glyphs are simplistic versions of offensive and defensive glyphs?” she asked.

“Yes. Domestic glyphs also tend to last longer as a result. Offensive glyphs are more complex, more powerful, but they last only a few minutes at the most. Because domestic glyphs generate a fraction of the power, they last longer.”

“So the power generated by a glyph is inversely proportional to how long it lasts?”

“That is correct.”

“Why do we need runes, then?” she asked.

“That is a discussion for another day. I believe Helena comes to wake us up for the watch.” He vanished, and she knew Helena had woken him up. She followed him into wakefulness, so that when Helena stumbled into their tent, she found a bleary-eyes Samarra sitting up. “That saves me having to wake you up then,” the brunette exclaimed cheerfully. “I’m going to get some more sleep.” She practically dove into her bedroll.

Samarra walked out of the tent, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She rinsed her mouth with water, and gratefully took some of the minty tooth powder that Solas offered. It had been a relief to find that, contrary to her fears, Thedas actually seemed to have rudimentary grasp on hygiene and plumbing. While it didn’t extend to showers - something she missed terribly - it did mean that visits to the toilet weren’t terrible. She’d learned, from Josephine, that the cities had a plumbing network, that some of the nobles had gold taps attached to sinks in their bathrooms, and that the water from the tubs would drain into the gardens. Human waste was even subjected to a primitive form of wastewater treatment, the waste being treated first with lye, then subjected to oxidation in long trenches well away from civilization. The treated waste was then used as manure. It was rather ingenious, and to her surprise, when she’d asked Giles to take her to the ‘manure pits’ as they were called, it didn’t smell bad, or anything like feces. There was a general odour of decomposition, but it wasn’t cloying or unbearable.

When she was done, she sat next to him, staring up at the sky. The sight of Thedas’ two moons in the sky never failed to amaze her. _The tides here should be insanely strong. It’s a wonder anyone can travel by sea at all._ Luna was the predominant moon, with Satina clearly being smaller and less visible, but even so, they made an impressive sight in the night sky. The stars here seemed to glitter more brightly than she’d ever seen on Earth, but whether that was a property of the stars themselves, or the fact that there was no light pollution in this world was a matter of debate.

“Have you always been so curious?” Solas’ sudden question had her blinking blankly at him.

“Huh?”

“Your curiosity, your thirst for knowledge. It is something one does not often encounter in this world. Have you always been this way?”

_Wait, wasn’t there some version of this dialogue in the game? And wasn’t it supposed to come after getting to Skyhold? And wasn’t it supposed to be directed towards the Inquisitor? This is weird._

“Yes,” she replied. “I love to learn about new things, and to understand how they work. I’ve been blessed with a good memory. I can read something, and understand the essence of it almost instantly. I might not remember the exact words, but I will know the concept.”

“That is a useful trait to have,” he commented.

“It helps, yes. If you understand the heart of a concept, you know how to change it, how to link it to other ideas. It helps me recognize patterns and behaviors.”

“It is a great blessing then, that you were never subjected to the rigidity of Circle teachings. It would most likely have taken away your enthusiasm for knowledge.”

“I agree. Picturing myself in a Circle…” she shuddered. “I wouldn’t have fared well at all. I might have even been made Tranquil, who knows?” she tried to joke about it, but it sounded somber and gloomy instead.

He clenched his jaw at the idea.

“Anyway, do I get to learn some glyphs yet?” she asked, unaware of the dark thoughts that swirled in his head. 

“I can teach you a few of the simpler ones,” he agreed. “I will teach you the offensive ones now, given that we will be facing fighting. Once we are back in Haven I will teach you the more domestic ones.”

“Oh! Oh that totally reminds me. Do you have a way of keeping your armor,” she flushed, “you know, clean, and, ummm… not smelly?”

He chuckled at her discomfited expression. “Yes.” He traced a small glyph on the ground. “That will protect the exterior of your coat. It is basically a barrier that repels anything that could stick to your armor.” He wiped it away, and drew a second one. “That is just a simple cleaning spell. It will clean your coat and get rid of any offensive odours.” He chuckled again when she blushed at his mention of ‘offensive odours’.

She practiced them a few times before she got the hang of it. “Thank you,” she said gratefully. 

“It is almost dawn,” Solas stated. “We don’t have much time left, but I will teach you some of the more basic offensive glyphs.” He taught her the glyphs for fire and ice mines, tracing the patterns in the air and taking care not to let them touch the earth, where they would activate. She followed him closely, enjoying his gentle and patient guidance as he corrected her mistakes. At one point, he took her hand to demonstrate the proper way to write the glyph, and an unmistakeable jolt passed through her. She stared at him briefly, but he seemed unaffected. _Probably just the magic_ , she thought uneasily. _Just his magic._

They woke the others, and soon the tents were dismantled and packed, their rucksacks loaded onto the horse, the fire put out. Cassandra had informed them that they would be eating breakfast on the road, since they needed to stop at the outpost before lunch in order to replenish their supplies.

They had just left behind the ice and snow of the mountains when Samarra felt the familiar-yet-strange tingle in her marked arm. Bracing herself, she tried to keep her face calm so as to not alert or alarm the others. She saw the group walking through a path lined by trees, the canopy blocking out most of the light. From the shadows, a group of seven bandits jumped out at them, catching them by surprise. The vision blurred, then faded away.

When she came back to the moment, she found Solas walking next to her, his eyes trained on her face. “What happened?” he asked in a low voice. 

“A vision,” she replied brusquely. “Cassandra! Helena!” she called out. “We’ll be facing bandits sometime soon. Be on your guard.”

“Where?” Cassandra demanded.

“I can’t tell you where exactly, but when I see it, I will let you know.” she answered.

“What did you see?” Solas asked her curiously.

“A path, lined by trees. As we were walking, seven bandits attacked. After that, it sort of blurred and then vanished.”

“It is possible that the interruption was as a result of your awareness of the situation. Clearly, the complete vision was based on the element of surprise.”

“And because I am now aware of their attack, my - our - responses will be different, creating a different outcome altogether, which was why the vision blurred,” she finished.

“Ah, so you are aware of Erborian’s theory of closed timeline curves,” he said with a measure of excitement. “All completely speculative of course, since seers who can see into the future are incredibly rare, but it is interesting to note that his theory held a measure of truth to it.”

 _Whose theory of what now?_

“I’m afraid I don’t know of either the author or his theory,” she said. “It just made sense to me that awareness of a situation yet to occur can result in changes to said situation, depending on the course of action taken. But, of course, there’s so much more to it.”

“I would like to hear your thoughts on the matter,” he commented.

“Well, I hope I can put my thoughts into words adequately. In this vision, the outcome changed because the element of surprise was taken away. It’s safe to say that were we to be taken by surprise, we would have sustained a few injuries in the course of the fight. Now that we expect a fight, we’re more on guard, and possibly take fewer injuries. So in this case, knowledge of the future is a good thing. On the other hand, if I saw a vision pertaining to Helena closing the Breach, for example. If I tell her, and everyone, that yes, she will close the Breach, it could lead to everyone just sitting back complacently. But the reason she closed the Breach was because of the work that was put into the matter. If everyone took for granted the outcome, the journey would be altered, which would then alter the outcome. In that case, would it truly be wise for me to reveal my vision?”

“You make a valid point,” he said. 

“You realize none of us are following your conversation, right?” Varric called out.

She grinned. “Fine, Varric. If you wanted to hear the sound of your voice, you should’ve just said so. Do you have any good stories?”

“Well, did I ever mention the time Hawke was invited to the Viscount’s house for dinner…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solas _really_ didn't like the idea of Samarra becoming Tranquil. I wonder why...
> 
> Also, more geeky magic stuff, enjoy! ☺


	17. Some Puzzles May Not Be Meant To Be Solved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little Solas and Samarra interaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly, at least
> 
> Bonus chapter! :D
> 
>  
> 
> **POV Solas**

The woman was an anomaly.

There was nothing she did that was predictable. She was an infuriating puzzle that refused to be unravelled. Despite his efforts to learn more about her, she remained wary, refusing to divulge any details about her past or where she came from. Other than what she had told them, of course. He wasn’t sure whether to believe her tale of hailing from Rivain, but it seemed to fit in well enough with everything else about her.

She’d readily accepted that none of the others had trusted her, and had worked to prove herself to them. So much so that the woman they called Herald had heeded her counsel, and had swayed from the Templar path, opting instead to train as the Chevaliers did. And that was just the beginning. Solas was sure that Samarra would influence a lot more events in the Inquisition. It wouldn’t bother him so much… if he only knew what her goal was.

That she was after the Inquisition’s best interests he had no doubt. That she would do everything in her power to keep Helena safe was obvious, at least to him. But other than that, he just knew she had a personal interest in the matter, and it annoyed him no end that he had failed so far in uncovering what it was.

Then there was the matter of her magic. She’d gone from being a hopeless novice to someone with a clear, defined understanding of the subject overnight. It was unheard of. Very few, even in his time, had the kind of comprehension and grasp of the subject matter as she did. He couldn’t understand how. He had failed to find her in the Fade, and had only found her when he sensed her searching for him. And he’d found her conversing - chatting away pleasantly, mind it - with a desire demon, of all things. Not a spirit, a demon. As if that weren’t peculiar enough, she was asking it how it had changed! When he’d pulled her away from the thing, she’d insisted that the demon could revert back to spirit form. How she knew so much about spirits and demons he had no idea, and she wasn’t forthcoming on the matter, deflecting his questions about it.

But what disconcerted him most of all was her intelligence. He’d come to value it, and their conversations. She was a quick and eager learner, her mind dissecting every bit of information to get to the core. Some of her observations and theories had astounded him, coming as they were from a human, a mortal. Though he was responsible for teaching her, their conversations had become discussions, and he always enjoyed the thoughtful questions she came up with.

Her explanation of the dilemma she faced with her visions made sense to him, even as it had worried him. If she had no qualms about keeping them in the dark about some of her vision - and it seemed from their conversations that she did not - he would be hard pressed to know whether or not she uncovered his identity.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye. True to her vision, they’d encountered bandits, who had been soon overwhelmed. She’d caught everyone by surprise by sparing two of them, brothers who had been very recently forced into banditry in order to make ends meet for their families. She’d directed them to the Inquisition outpost, stating they could join the Inquisition to earn a legal wage. Cassandra had objected, but she had brushed off the Seeker’s concerns.

He’d asked her why she hadn’t tried to save anyone else, but she’d given him a dark look in return. Whether it had been because of the question, or because of the fact she had just been forced to kill a man, he hadn’t known. Although judging by her silence and general air of distraction, he was willing to bet on the latter.

“Hey, Crimson, you holding up okay?” the dwarf asked her in concern. Solas rather envied her friendship with Varric - she smiled and joked more often, and each time she did her face radiated happiness. It suited her.

She gave the dwarf a tight smile and nod in response, and he frowned. She wasn’t usually like this he thought, concerned. He waited till the dwarf moved away before stepping in pace with her. He could see she was weary, something she kept well-hidden, but he knew, had seen her subtly run her hands over her legs when they stopped for lunch the previous day to heal and loosen up her muscles. 

“They will always remember you, and be grateful to you,” he said.

“Desperate men do desperate things,” she replied.

“Indeed.” 

“Did they have families?” she burst out. “People who loved them, who care about them? Will their loved ones be devastated by their loss? Were they just people trying to survive in the chaos?”

“Were they?” he asked evenly.

She looked down at the ground. “Two of them were. The rest were… they would have had killed us.”

“In this world, in these times, if you want to live, you need to be able to defend and protect yourself.”

“I know that,” she sighed. “But I think to myself… who am I to take the life of someone else?”

“Killing is never easy, nor should it be.”

“You’ll never forget your first,” Varric said somberly, having overheard their conversation. “But - and this is both shitty and a blessing - you’ll get used to it. You’ll learn to ignore the part of yourself that tells you it’s wrong, and you’ll become more efficient at it.”

She turned her attention away from the dwarf, back to him. Her eyes were anguished. “How do you deal with it?” she asked. “With the guilt, the idea that you’re a murderer.”

Her misery opened something raw in him. “You tell yourself you’re doing the right thing,” he said quietly. “And then you make sure you follow through.”

She nodded, and turned away. 

“Cassandra, perhaps we should take a break,” he calmly announced. “We could all use some rest.”

“I agree,” Varric said. “I think my feet are ready to fall off. The Seeker rolled her eyes, but soon stopped at a small clearing with a stream. Solas watched, amused, as Samarra’s eyes widened in gratitude at the sight of the clear water. He knew her fondness for water from their conversations in the Fade. He kept an eye on her as she soaked her feet in the water, watching for any signs of injury or fatigue. When her shoulders tensed, he knew there was something wrong. Casually he rose and joined her, moving with an idleness so as not to draw any attention from the others. He knew, instinctively, that she would not care for it. He placed his hand on her back, near the base of her neck. “Where were you injured?” he asked in a low voice.

She said nothing, clearly ignoring him, and he felt a frizzle of annoyance wind through him. “Either you let me take a look at it, or I will let the others know that you have been injured. The choice is yours.”

She grumbled something indecipherable beneath her breath. “ _Ane telsilast_ ,” she muttered. “ _Ar vianem ‘ma shos’lavin’. Ame ladaremah, te’telsilathe_.” 

Her command of elven was disconcerting, to say the least. Oftentimes, in the midst of their discussions in the Fade, he had switched into the ancient tongue, hoping to catch her off-guard, but she had continued the conversation in kind, almost as though she was unaware of the change in language.

He would never admit it was soothing to find someone who could converse with him in his language with such ease. Never.

“ _Elasas’ma_ ”.

“I got it,” she muttered irritably. He sighed. “You are tired. You should conserve your energy. Let me heal you.” He dropped to his haunches next to her and waited.

She reluctantly moved her right foot towards him. “How much does it hurt?” he asked.

“It was bearable before, but it’s pretty bad now.”

“You kept healing yourself intermittently when walking, instead of stopping the few minutes it would take to completely heal it?” he was aghast. 

“No, don’t be silly. It just happened a few minutes before we stopped. I didn’t want to alarm the others. Cassandra already thinks I’m pretty useless, no point in giving her confirmation.”

He gently ran his fingers over the swollen area. Each time they made contact, there was a pleasurable jolt that coursed through him. Touching her ignited a myriad heated desires in him. A desire to pull her into his arms. To kiss her. To claim. To possess.

So, of course, he would not touch her unless absolutely required. 

He was aware she felt it too. He’d seen the looks she had given him, looks filled with puzzled bewilderment, searching for some kind of indication that he had noticed it too. But he’d forced himself to remain stoic.

Her skin was soft. There was no fragility about her, unlike the other mortals in this day and age, she did not feel frail, feel temporary, _tranquil_ There was substance where she was, a solidness, a certainty of being. Even her scent was different, earthy and spicy, the smell reminding him of rain falling over a clove-and-cinnamon forest.

He could feel her magic humming contentedly beneath her skin, calling out to him almost playfully. He resisted the urge to send in answering tendrils of his own, even though he itched to let his magic twine with hers. He wondered if the phenomenon was limited only to him, or whether other mages felt the same call of her magic.

He had no idea why the thought made him angry.

“There. You will feel better now,” he stated, letting go of her foot - which, he noticed lazily, was delicate and dainty, so at odds with her personality.

“ _Ma serannas_ ,” she replied with a smile.

“ _Sathem, da’lan_ ” he answered, grinning slightly as her face broke out into a scowl.

“ _Dian ra_!” she exclaimed hotly. “ _Ame tel’da’lan_!” She shook her head when she saw him smiling, but it pulled an answering one from her.

He liked her smile. No, he didn’t. Yes, he did. He did. It was a beautiful smile, gentle and glowing and **happy**.

“ _Ane tel’samahlas_ ,” she mock-glared at him, and he chuckled.

“ _Melin’ahn nuvenas_?” he teased. It was so much fun to tease her, to see her all flustered.

“ _Ar enan melin_ ,” she replied dryly. “ _Ma’melin Samarra. Thanas ma’melin_.”

“ _Ma nuvenin_ ,” he replied, still grinning.

“ _Na dirthas melava’ga_ ,” she complained.

“ _Esayemas on’el_ ”

She rolled her eyes. “ _Tel’dhruan’na_ ” she snarked, but it was said with a smile.

“Oy! Chuckles! Crimson! Quit your yapping, let’s get moving,” Varric called out. She sighed and pulled on her boots, giving him a rueful smile before walking over to join the others.

Later at camp that evening, she accompanied him to place the wards around the camp. He watched as she expertly drew them, her magic flowing readily into the sigil. It hadn’t surprised him - if he’d learned anything about her in the few weeks he’d known her, it was that she had a quick mind and was a fast learner.

“You did well,” he praised her as they walked back towards the campfire.

“Thanks. I’m pretty surprised, actually.”

“Why? You are an intelligent woman, far more so than the rest of your kind. It only makes sense that you would readily and easily master new knowledge.”

“Ahh, so we’re back to the whole ‘rest of your kind’ nonsense. Tell me, are you capable of giving a genuine, non-backhanded compliment?” She didn’t wait for his reply, stomping off to sit next to the Herald. In a matter of moments, she was laughing and joking with the other woman, and between them they had even managed to draw a few smiles from the Seeker.

He clenched his hands into fists. He’d experienced hostility directed his way, had been disrespected in ways that - had he slaughtered his antagonists - he would have been excused. Under his apostate cover, he’d been on the receiving end of jeers from _shemlen_ and the Dalish alike, and he’d borne them patiently, because he knew he worked towards a goal.

But this woman? This _puzzling, infuriating, inflaming, **intelligent**_ woman? Half of him wanted to strike her down for her arrogant words, while the other half wanted to sway her low opinion of him. Wanted her to _**like**_ him.

It was frustrating, to say the least.

She pointedly ignored him the rest of the evening, but he was patient. He knew she would eventually have to come to him, because he was the only one who had what she so eagerly sought - **knowledge**. 

He could wait. He could even afford to be generous when she returned, would welcome her without reproach.

After all, a genius does not rush through the creation of his masterpiece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Ane telsilast - you're annoying  
> Ar vianem ‘ma shos’lavin’. Ame ladaremah, te’telsilathe - I wounded my ankle. I was about to heal it, don’t worry  
> Elasas’ma - allow me  
> Ma serannas - thank you/I thank you  
> Sathem, da'lan - you're welcome, little one  
> Dian ra! - Stop that!  
> Ame tel'da'lan!! - I am not a child!  
> Ane tel'samahlas - you're not funny  
> Melin'ahn nuvenas? - what do you want me to call you/what name do you desire?  
> Ar enan melin - I have a name.  
> Ma'melin Samarra. Thanas ma'melin - My name is Samarra. Use my name.  
> Ma nuvenin - As you wish  
> Na dirthas melava'ga - you say that all the time  
> Esayemas on'el - I'll try to be better  
> Tel'dhruan'na - I don't believe you
> 
> The elven translations took _forever_. I'm so bad at languages :(
> 
> So I for every chapter I post, I write a chapter ahead in the plot. I was kind of feeling inspired today and ended up writing two chapters, so here ya go. Some Solas POV ☺ What do you think of our resident Egg so far? Any predictions? ✶


	18. It Takes A Group Of Badasses To Turn Turmoil Into Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hinterlands visit doesn't go according to plan - for one person, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Check the Fade
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> _Oh my goodness, three posts three days in a row? Woooo!_

Meeting Scout Harding had been an interesting experience. She knew the dialogue, of course, and Varric’s terrible joke about her being to Hardtown had actually caused her to burst out into giggles - to which Cassandra had given her a disgusted look, with a matching noise - but it was Lace Harding herself who Samarra was fixed on.

“You’re the one they call the Oracle,” Harding addressed her.

“My efforts to get them to stop don’t seem to work, but I’m always open to new suggestions,” she replied with a quick smile. “Call me Samarra, please.”

“Of course.” Harding continued hesitantly, “Is what they say true? That you can see the future, I mean.”

“I get visions, yes,” she demurred.

“Oh wow,” Harding breathed. “Is it exciting or terrible?”

She laughed at that. Harding was the first person to ask her if her foresight brought her fear, and that instantly endeared the woman to her. “Both. In equal measure.”

“We should get to business. The situation’s pretty dire. We came to secure horses from Redcliffe’s old horsemaster. I grew up around here, and people always said that Dennet’s horses were the strongest and the fastest this side of the Frostbacks.” The auburn haired dwarf paused for a moment, then continued, sadness in her voice, “But with the mage-templar war getting worse… we couldn’t get to Dennet. Maker only knows if he’s still alive.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Samarra said. “He’s alive.”

Harding shot her a grateful look. “Mother Giselle’s at the Crossroads, helping refugees and the wounded. Our latest reports say that the war’s spread there, too.”

“We better get going,” Samarra declared briskly. “I’m sure Corporal Vale and his men can’t hold them off forever. We have to help them out.”

“Yes,” Harding looked somewhat startled, “there’s no time to lose.”

They began walking down the familiar path. Samarra was quiet, introspecting about the carnage that was about to take place, and didn’t notice Solas sidle up to her.

“Are you worried about the fighting?” he asked her quietly.

‘I can’t afford to be,” she replied with a grim smile. “It’s either kill or be killed, right?”

“That is how you should look at the matter,” he agreed. “In these chaos, one must do what needs to be done in order to survive.”

“I suppose I’ll have to live with the sin, then.” she murmured, and turned her attention back to the path.

The region was beautiful, she had to admit. The land was fertile, supporting an astonishing number of plant species. Wildflowers in all colors were scattered across lush green grass. There were easily over fifty species of trees - probably more, but she was no expert - and ferns, shrubs and bushes dotted the landscape. She could see fennec foxes scamper playfully through the tall grasses. Rams placidly grazed upon the shorter, and undoubtedly sweeter, turf.

It would have been peaceful, a quiet, tranquil haven for its inhabitants, had it not been for the war.

The signs of violence were plentiful. Even a casual glance showed bloodstains smeared across the rocks. The air stank with the smell of burnt flesh in places.

And, of course, there were the bodies.

From their robes, Samarra judged them to be rebel mages. There were a few wearing Chantry robes among the dead too, a somber reminder that every war had collateral damage. The narrow path soon opened up to a wide plain, and the sounds of a skirmish rang through the air.

“Inquisition forces!” Cassandra exclaimed, observing a skirmish in the distance. “They’re trying to protect the refugees!”

“Looks like they could use a hand,” Varric added.

_Well, here we go I guess,_ she thought somewhat miserably. She and Varric took up vantage points flanking the attackers. From their heavy armor, she knew they were templars. _Not sure what my arrows can do against metal armor._ Flinging out her hand, she sent out a chain of lightning that threaded from one templar to the next, leaving them a quivering, shaking mess. From there, it was easy to bring them down - she followed Varric’s advice of focusing on the weak points of their armor, specifically the joints, and the areas where the pieces slotted into each other. It soon became apparent that Harritt was truly a master craftsman - the arrowheads he’d designed pierced through the metal armor with almost laughable ease.

Cassandra tried to reason with them, even declaring that she was a Seeker, but to no avail. Solas quickly disabused her of the notion when he came to her aid against a particularly vicious templar.

In the midst of the chaos and the shouts and the blood, Samarra was flooded with adrenaline, and gave no thought to the fact that her arrows were sticking out of the chests and necks of dead men. And even after that fight was over, she had no time to process it, for they came under attack from apostates, who had seen the templars fall and were eager to use the opportunity to seize more supplies for themselves. She found it harder to kill them, because she could feel their aura and their magic brushing up against hers. She could feel them die, felt as their mana left their bodies and entered the Fade. She shuddered each time their escaped mana touched hers - it made her feel unclean, almost tainted.

And it was probably as a result of her distraction as she tried to unravel the mystery of the phenomenon, that she found herself being attacked by two of them. She had just enough time, and presence of mind, to cast a barrier over herself and Varric. A quick draw of her bow had her unlucky opponent on the ground the next moment. She could hear Solas desperately telling the rogue apostates that they were not templars; once again, it fell on deaf ears.

She was distracted by the desperation in his voice, though. That’s what she told herself when she woke up, hours later, from the state of oblivion she was abruptly - and somewhat comically - thrown into. After all, she’d just heard the _Dread Wolf_ himself sounding desperate. That wasn’t supposed to happen, right? He’d always been so calm, so cool, so collected in the game. So very stoic he put statues to shame. _Except that time with Wisdom..._

Varric regaled her with the tale as she sat up in bed, wincing against the throbbing of her head. “You moved outside your own barrier when you went for that apostate,” he said, snickering. “Didn’t even notice that. Or notice the other one sneak up behind you. He caught you good with the business end of his staff, you were out instantly like a candle in the wind. Chuckles introduced the man’s face to a fireball - fried him instantly.”

“You could’ve warned me,” she said a tad bitterly.

“I would have, if we weren’t in the middle of a fight. Besides, what kind of mage leaves the safety of their own barrier? That’s just crazy.”

“Yeah, well, you learn something new everyday. Is my gear okay?”

“Right as rain. Cleaned off your arrows for you, too. You’re welcome.”

“Thanks, Varric,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“So, how are you holding up? You brought down quite a few men out there, Crimson. You okay?”

She tilted her head the slightest bit, staring at the ground as she mulled over his question. The truth was, she wasn’t as torn up about taking a life as she had been yesterday. Whether it was the ‘getting used to’ that Varric had told her about seemed unlikely. It was more the awareness that the men she’d brought down had killed others, had been in the middle of attacking innocent civilians, and would have killed again had she not struck them down first that soothed her conscience.

“Not too bad,” she finally said. “It’s easier to deal with it when you see them coming at you. Those men were killers. They would’ve been only too happy to kill me.”

He patted her arm kindly. “You’ve got a good head on you. Don’t worry about turning into one of them,” he advised.

She stared at him. “Okay, how did you know…?”

“I’ve been in that position myself,” he answered with a small smile. “I know how it feels. Don’t start beating yourself up yet, Crimson. We’ve only just started fixing this shitfest.” She gripped his hand, and he gave hers a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll call Helena in,” he said. “She’s been worried.”

The Herald of Andraste came rushing in through the cottage door, relief sliding into her face as her eyes found Samarra sitting upright. “Thank the Maker you’re okay!” she burst out. “I was so worried. It’s my fault, for bringing you here with me. I was so focused on helping the Inquisition I forgot that you’re a healer, not a warrior.”

“It’s fine, Helena. I need to learn. And that’s why I’m here, right? To help the Inquisition.”

“But you were hurt!”

“And I’m sure I’ll be wounded again,” she replied with a quick upturn of her lips. “So we’ll consider this an initiation. Have you spoken with Mother Giselle?”

“Yes, and she’s given us a list of Chantry members to contact. It’s on its way to Leliana now.”

“Great! So what’s next?”

“Cassandra says we need to bring some stability to the region, and that means taking out the apostate and templar strongholds. Several of the refugees mention mercenaries in the area, so that’s another thing we’ll have to look into. Not to mention finding Horsemaster Dennet. I was thinking…” Helena broke off.

“Thinking what?” Samarra prodded.

“You should stay behind at the Crossroads while the rest of us move on,” Helena spoke, her eyes firmly fixed on a spot in the cottage over Samarra’s shoulder. “There are a lot of refugees who need help, and you’re really good at that.”

“Let me guess,” Samarra noted dryly, “the people here are uncomfortable with mages treating them.”

Helena flushed. “Yes, well, some of them are,” she mumbled. “They’re scared because they’ve been attacked by apostates one too many times,” she explained. “So, what do you think?”

“If you think it is what is best _for the people_ ,” she replied cautiously, “I am not opposed. If, however, this is some ploy to keep me away from fighting, I would be disappointed with your lack of faith in me.”

Helena turned beet red. “The thought crossed my mind,” she admitted sheepishly, “But Solas told me you were more than capable of taking care of yourself. So no, it’s not for that. With our plans to bring some stability to this region, the Crossroads will be flooded with refugees. There are a few mage healers here, but they need someone to guide them. We all think you’re best suited for the task.”

“Helena,” she protested, “I’m a mage. If the people here won’t accept mages, there’s not much I can do to help. Especially with Mother Giselle leaving for Haven.”

“I know you can do it,” Helena said encouragingly. “Corporal Vale and his men will protect you if need be -”

“That’s encouraging,” Samarra muttered.

“Please, Samarra,” Helena pleaded. “There’s so much to do here. If you help me with restoring the Crossroads to some semblance of normalcy, I will be so grateful.”

_Oh come on, how could I have forgotten about all the damn quests in the Hinterlands? It’ll take them several months to finish everything, if I don’t help them. Wait, I can help them with the side quests, right? I mean, they’re just to build power and influence for the Inquisition…_

_Yeah, I think you’ll be all right. If you mark the templar, apostate and bandit strongholds, you’ll save them time hunting them out._

_Right. And point out the regions where they will have to expect heavy opposition._

_Not to mention the damn bears!_

_Oh man, those fucking bears. And that damned rift near Dennet’s farm._

_Maybe you could even ask her to get Cullen to put up watchtowers in that region. You know, save time and all that? That way, you can just get the horses from Dennet without having to wait. And you know what that means…_

_No more walking all day! Fuck yeah!_

She sighed. “All right. I’ll stay back, look after things here.” She rubbed her aching head. “I need a pain relief elixir, and a map of the region. And a pen.” She swallowed the elixir, relieved when the throbbing of her head ceased. Placing the map on the table nearby, she first noted down the strongholds of the mages, templars and bandits. “You’ll have to be careful when you attack them,” she warned the group clustered around the table. “Make sure you take Inquisition soldiers with you. Neither the templars nor the mages will see reason. And the mages have already turned to blood magic - they will most likely summon demons.” She circled three regions. “You’ll find opposition from templars at the West Road, and from mages at Witchwood.”

“What’s the third circle for?” Helena asked.

“Bears.” Samarra deadpanned, and Helena let out a startled chuckle at her tone. “No, I’m serious,” Samarra insisted. “Those fuckers can knock you down and out. But it you do manage to take them out, I’m not entirely opposed to the prospect of a bear coat.”

She marked other regions of interest, and told Helena to talk to Cullen about setting up watchtowers around the area as an early alarm system.

“You’ve left the Crossroads in my care - I won’t let you down,” she promised. _That means ram-hunting, and supplies for the refugees. I guess I can handle that._

Helena sat down heavily on the chair. “What have I signed up for?” she asked tiredly. 

“Saving the world,” Samarra quipped. “That’s why the Inquisition was formed. To restore order.”

The brunette groaned. “Is that going to be possible, or are we all just wasting our time?”

“Hey,” she placed her hands on Helena’s shoulders, “don’t tell me you’re giving up before we even get started. You’re not that kind of person, are you?”

Helena snorted. “I’m not giving up. I’m just wondering how much of a difference we can make.”

“You’d be surprised,” Samarra said with a smile. “Trust me. What you’re going is going to mean something.”

“I do trust you.” Helena sighed. “Well, we set out tomorrow morning. I thought I’d introduce you to Vale and his irregulars.”

“Irregulars?”

“That’s what he calls his men,” Helena laughed. “They’re an odd bunch, but devoted to protecting the refugees. If we can ever bring some order to this Maker-forsaken place, I’d ask them to join the Inquisition.”

Helena introduced Samarra to the Corporal. She’d never paid much attention to him in the game, what with him being some random NPC who’d given her some quests, and that she’d recruited later as an agent, but seeing him in the flesh was a different matter. He was tall, burly and well-built, with a very earnest demeanor.

“Pleased to meet you, your Notability,” he addressed her with a little bow.

“Call me Samarra, please. Now, Corporal, Helena tells me that the people here are wary of the healer mages. Are your men the same?”

He flushed. “Some of them object to the mages,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “We’ve been attacked one too many time by the apostate mages, and the men... they’ve become somewhat wary of the mages. They’ve seen the kind of damage magic can do.” 

“I see. Well, if we’re to make something solid from this chaos, I will need everyone on board with me. Can I count on you and your men?”

“Yes, your Notability. You’ll get no lip from us.”

“Good. I look forward to working with you,” she replied, shaking his hand firmly. 

She spent the rest of the day inventorying the supplies available, noting with dismay that the healers lacked in almost everything - right from basic bandages and needle and thread, to potions. She found the old healer’s journal, and kept it aside to read later. Inspecting the healer’s cottage, she found the wood damp and rotting, the inside was dirty, stained with blood and other body fluids.

_This… this is disgusting. I really have my work cut out for me, don’t I?_

Dinner was a measly affair. Varric, Cassandra and Helena had gone hunting, and were able to bring back a couple of dead rams, but it wasn’t enough to feed everyone. The Inquisition members had been offered the choicest of the meat, but they’d politely demurred, opting instead to give it to the children, and those who were ailing. They set up their tents soon after, not wanting to occupy the few cottages available for the refugees. Helena gave a quick rundown of what Samarra had told her to the others. Solas seemed displeased that she was not going to accompany them, but he couldn’t argue against the validity of their plan.

“With the help your visions have given us,” Cassandra stated in her forthright manner, “we need not tarry in the region longer than we need to. A month, perhaps. Would that be sufficient time for you to bring the Crossroads to shape?”

“I don’t know,” Samarra admitted. “We’re severely lacking supplies, and the people here don’t dare to go searching.”

“Do you have a plan?” Solas asked.

“Yes. I’ll take a few of Vale’s archers with me and go hunting tomorrow. Hopefully we can replenish the food supplies. I’ll have to completely clean out the healer’s cottage, that place is a mess. We’re lucky to have a pond nearby, I can clean out all the huts. I’ll talk to the mages, come up with some sort of plan, depending on how talented they are.” She sighed heavily. “There’s a lot to be done.”

“We will resume our lessons in the Fade,” he ordered. “You cannot ignore your studies for the sake of throwing a tantrum.”

“A tantrum?” she spluttered. “Me?”

“Yes,” he said coolly. “Behavior I would expect from a child, not from a fully-grown adult.”

_Oooooh, you absolute egghead, you insufferable goat._

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of annoying her. “Very well,” she said calmly instead. That got his attention, and he gave her a searching look, as though he did not believe her sudden change in demeanor. 

“Starting tonight, then,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her. She shrugged. “Okay.”

_Childish behavior, indeed. If you think you’re going to rattle me… okay fine, you might, but not always! If it’s grown up behavior you want, then it’s going to be grown up behavior you’re going to get, Fen’harel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess a certain Egg won't have a certain redhead to keep him company. But what lies in store for Samarra? Will she throw a tantrum? Will she get her bear coat? _You'll have to wait and find out!_


	19. If You Want To Change Things You Gotta Get Your Hands Dirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samarra schools the Crossroads, son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency - suspended (for this week)
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> _Thank you_ to each and every one of you who leaves kudos or a comment. It's so nice to hear what you have to say, and to know that you like what I write! (it does make me feel nervous about eventually writing a chapter so terrible it drives everyone away, but we'll ignore that for now).
> 
> I'm going to try and see if I can post a chapter every day of this week. It'll probably be back to regular schedule next week, though. Work is starting to get busy.

“Again,” Solas commanded.

She huffed. They’d been at it for what seemed like hours; sparring with magic in the Fade. She could sense the spirit of Knowledge she’d made contact with hovering around the border of the safe place Solas had created, and it was distracting her. If he’d noticed, he gave no indication, opting instead to push her to focus harder.

She took her stance opposite him, slamming the end of the staff firmly into the ground to release the blast of cold. He waved it away with an almost bored look on his face, and she had to stop herself from walking over to punch him. Instead, she directed her power at the ground beneath his feet, watching in satisfaction as the look on his face changed to one of surprise as the earth below him opened up. As he moved to regain his footing, she cast another ice spell, this time freezing his body solid with a winter’s grasp enchantment.

“My point, I believe,” she called out as he worked to free himself. “Now, if you’ll excuse me… I’d like to go around and explore.”

“Explore the Fade?” he scoffed. “You are not equipped to deal with the demons here yet.”

“I won’t know till I try,” she replied airily.

“I will accompany you,” he stated.

“No, thank you,” she said. “You’re not my keeper.”

“I believe I am,” he mocked. 

“Well, in that case, you can stop believing it.” With a toss of her head, she began walking to the edge of the clearing he’d created, Before she could pass through the thin, hazy curtain that marked the border, she was pulled back, her back hitting his chest inelegantly. “What the fuck?” she spun around angrily. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

“Keeping you safe,” he growled back. “Contrary to what you seem to think, you are not skilled enough to protect yourself from demons. Do you think I have not felt them lurking around? They are all attracted by the glow you emit. In the Fade, you shine brighter than the brightest beacon, and you draw them all towards you like moths to a flame. And since you seem far too foolish to take care of yourself, it falls on me to do it for you.”

“Oh yeah? And how’s that? By keeping me chained to you? If you were truly concerned, you would be teaching me how to defend myself. Instead, you want to keep me locked up in your little Fade safehouse like some princess in a tower!”

“Princess in a tower?” his brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Stop trying to distract me!” she exclaimed, and strode decisively out of the protection of his clearing. When she stepped outside, she gave an involuntary shiver. It felt as though… as though tendrils that had wrapped themselves carefully and cautiously around her person had been mercilessly yanked away in a single, swift motion, and that disconcerted her. _What magic has he been using on me?_ she wondered. She hadn’t been aware of it when she was with him, but now that she was away from him she could feel a difference. She felt lighter, more free, somehow, and it didn’t make sense. _I need to get away_ , she thought, and let her feet guide her towards the tug she felt from the spirit of Knowledge.

She had only just thought of him when he appeared before her. “Oh!” she jumped back, startled. 

“He searches for you,” Knowledge stated, “it bothers him that he cannot find you.”

“Wait, hold on a minute,” she blurted out. “That weird feeling I had earlier… was that him trying to cast something on me? So he could find me?”

“Yes,” the spirit stated, as though it were obvious.

“Why that conniving little shit.” she ground out. “He claims I'll attract demons to me. Tell me, will I have trouble with demons?” she asked.

“They are curious, but not malicious. Your meeting with Desire has made many interested.”

“Made them interested? Why?”

“Because you helped her become Purpose once more,” he said.

“I did what? How could I have done it? All I did was talk to her! And Solas told me that was a stupid thing to do. He said she could have possessed me!” she exclaimed.

“I do not know how. But she wishes to meet with you. I can take you to her, if you would like.” 

“I would like that, yes.”

The spirit took her hand and lead her through the Fade. She looked around with interest - this was not the raw Fade that she had seen in the game. She’d always hated the Fade section of the quest, it had seemed too eerie and unsettling, but this Fade was different. It was calm, and it rippled as she walked through it. 

“Does the Fade always look like this? Like… a blank slate?” she asked curiously.

“It looks as it does because it has not yet been shaped by your will,” Knowledge said. “We can shape the Fade when we touch the memories of a mage, or someone who sleeps. When they awaken, we keep the memories we find most pleasant, and change the landscape accordingly.”

“Interesting. So if I were to stumble into a spirit’s realm, it would not look like this?”

“No. As long as spirits reside in the Fade, their domain will remain as they wish it to be - unless they were to leave, in which case it would return to what you see.”

“If I were to call a spirit to me, would they shape the Fade, or would they arrive into the shape I had created?”

“It can be either. To converse with the rarer spirits, one would, as a show of respect, allow the spirit to shape the Fade for the conversation.”

“Oh,” she said, uncomfortable. “I am sorry. Would you like to…” she trailed off, watching in amazement as the air around her shifted and settled into a pleasant, sunlight-dappled path through the woods. “This is the trail near my house!” she exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes, I found the sight very pleasing,” Knowledge said. “But it makes you sad,” he observed. “Why?”

“I miss it,” she said softly. “I miss home. I miss being able to just be myself, without all these secrecy and the cunning and the covert planning. I miss getting takeouts and curling up in front of the TV, I miss hanging out with my friends, god, I miss hot showers. I don’t know why i was brought here. I don’t know why, or how I belong here. I’m trying to do the best I can. Sometimes I want to go home, other times I feel like I should stay and fix things. But I don’t know how. I’m pretty clueless - I mean, look at me! I have to be taught by the very person who will one day become my enemy. And I wasn’t even aware of him casting anything over me! How can I ever hope to match him?”

“If that is your purpose, I can help you with it,” she heard a new voice say.

She turned her head to find a new spirit standing beside Knowledge. “You are not alone,” she said. “We are here to help you. We know what you wish to accomplish, and we approve.”

“Are you…” she asked hesitantly.

“Am I the demon of desire you met some time ago? Yes.”

“But how?” she blurted out.

The spirit gave her a secretive smile. “You will understand in time. Come with us. You wish to learn, and we will aid you. The path you seek to walk is long and dangerous, but you will not walk it alone.”

“Will I succeed?” she asked.

“We cannot say. It hinges on the decisions you make.”

“Okay,” she breathed out. “Okay. I guess I can live with that. Where do I start?”

The spirits guided her through all the ancient knowledge they held. She met Courage, Command and Victory, who taught her the ways of the _Dirth’ena Enasalin_. Contrary to what the game had indicated, it wasn’t just creating a spirit blade and hacking away wildly with it. It was far more nuanced, involving the turning of magic inwards into the body. It was a combination of the martial arts forms and yoga from Earth, and it was graceful and deadly. The Knight Enchaner specialization had been but a pale shadow. She also learned the way of the _Panathe’virelan_ , how to face a blade without fear, how to control the elements in her environment, and to use it to her advantage. All too soon for her liking, the night came to an end and she found herself inching towards wakefulness.

“We will await you each night, and help you practice,” they promised her, when she was loathe to leave.

She woke up feeling refreshed, with renewed determination. When she left the tent, she didn’t see Solas around, to her relief. _What do I do about him? I mean, he’s clearly up to something. That enchantment I felt was so subtle, I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t left his side. I’m sure he’s going to try something along those lines again._

_Maybe you don’t need him anymore? You could just hang out on your own, learn from the spirits._

_I could, but he knows a lot. It would kind of be stupid for me not to learn from him. And besides, he can teach me first hand._

_That’s true. Either you have to confront him about it, in which case he might just change tactics once he knows you’re aware of what he’s been doing, or you just pretend as though you know nothing, and he’ll continue doing what he’s doing, but at least you know how to get rid of it…?_

_I guess I’ll have to pretend I’m clueless. God, how am I supposed to keep myself from punching his face?_

_You’re an adult. You didn’t punch Chancellor Roderick, you can keep yourself from punching the Egg._

She saw the others off, a little heavy hearted. She’d become used to their company, and it felt strange being left behind. She tried not to take it personally, opting instead to do the best she could under the circumstances.

Most of the people at the Crossroads were wary of her, unsure as to what to make of her. Her instincts told her that the best way to get them to trust her, and by extension the Inquisition, was to get down to work. She dragged some of Vale’s archers and went hunting, and she used her knowledge of the region to avoid the templars and bandits. They were able to take down the smaller bandit patrols, and Samarra had to use all her willpower not to heave at the sound of ripping flesh as she pulled out her arrows from the dead bodies. 

Between the five of them, they were able to bring down enough game to replenish their stores. Ram, nugs - she wasn’t too happy about killing the cute creatures, but knew they needed all the food they could find - and even a stray druffalo. The druffalo posed the biggest challenge, and she eventually had to resort to using her magic alongside the other hunter’s arrows to bring it down.

It made her wonder who would win in a fight between a bear and a druffalo. 

Recruit Whittle and his comrades helped bring the meat back to the settlement, where the hunters began to strip the skins away so that the cooks could begin their work. She showed the cooks how to clean their surfaces and kitchen implements before cooking, and how to preserve the meat using ice. With the help of two mages, she managed to convert an old, rickety chest into an ice chest where they stored the excess meat.

The midday meal was, she was told, the first time in weeks that everyone had had their bellies filled.

Over the next few weeks, she made changes to the Crossroads, both small and significant. The healer’s hut she overhauled, dragging the able-bodied of the refugees to pull the furniture out, stripping sheets and linen from the room, cleaning everything down with hot water and lye to disinfect. She was able to persuade some of the women to make soap, which was simpler than she’d expected, given that they already had the lye ready from leaching ashes, and fats from the remnants of the animal carcasses. She taught the healers to wash their hands with soap before treating patients, and insisted that those preparing meals do so as well. She made the kitchen staff wipe down their area with a diluted lye solution, explaining that it would reduce stomach infections. 

She threw a tantrum to get them to start disposing of bodily wastes away from the settlement, and so five deep pit latrines were dug a safe distance away. She made sure fresh water and soap was always available near them, and insisted that people wash their hands after visiting them - so much so she threatened to set a dissenter on fire, exclaiming that she would not have her hard work of reducing illness come to naught on account of a pesky, brainless nugshit. She personally drew the glyphs around it that would control odour, and subsequently vermin. She had someone disinfect them daily by pouring lye solution down the pits. Within the first two weeks, she had almost completely eliminated the instances of stomach troubles and diarrhea among the refugees. 

With Helena and the others bringing stability to the area, she was able to send out volunteers to collect herbs. Soon, they had decent stores of elfroot, spindleweed and blood lotus, and even some embrium. She learned from the healers how to use blood lotus to make a potion similar to anaesthesia, and her experiments with it taught her to control the dosage and concentration, all of which she noted down in her journal. 

_General anaesthesia potion - boil ten blood lotus plants - flowers and stem separated - in a mixture of 1:2 liquid fat and water for four hours. Let solution cool, and stand overnight in a dark place. Discard fat component of immiscible solution, retain liquid component. Boil liquid component till the volume has reduced by half. Store the remaining mixture away from sunlight. To use, mix half a thimble’s worth of draught with three spoons of spindleweed extract for adults; for children, half the dosage._

_Healer’s additional notes: Mix a spoonful of general anaesthesia potion with elfroot poultice for local anaesthesia effects. Administer poultice for ten minutes before minor surgery or application of sutures. Is also effective for dental issues._

_Pain relief elixir - grind three spindleweed and two elfroot into a thick paste. Use only the leaves, not the stem. Mix the paste with cold water, and let the mixture stand in the sun for two hours. Once the solution has turned brown, heat it gently on a low flame for three hours till it turns amber. Strain through a clean muslin cloth. The liquid does not have any special storage requirements. To use, administer two thimble’s worth for adults. For children, half a spoonful will suffice._

_Antibacterial draught - soak five embrium flowers in alcohol of some kind. Let it stand for a day in a dark place. The following day, remove flowers from the liquid and grind into a paste. Mix the paste back into the liquid, and bring to a boil, taking care not to let the vapors escape. Let the mixture cool completely. When cool, strain the mixture. Store the liquid in a chilled cloth-covered bottle. Do not expose to sunlight at all. To use, mix a spoonful of the liquid into half a mugful of broth. Administer twice daily._

_Additional thoughts - further refinement to recipe can be made. Test using various kinds of alcohols to optimize extraction process._

With her staunch advocation of the few mages in the area who had neither joined the rebel mages at Redcliffe nor the apostates at Witchwood - not to mention the fact that she was one herself - the people at the Crossroads had come to warm up to the mages. She was able to identify their strengths and weaknesses, assigning four of them who were exceptionally strong in the storm and inferno trees to Vale, where they were easily able to prove their mettle and were readily accepted as part of his group. (Fine, so she may have had to yell at them a bit, but after their first fight as a mixed-military unit, there had been no complaints). The remaining two were familiar with healing spells, and she taught them all she knew of healing magic. There were five healers in all, the two mages and three human women who had once been housewives but were now widowed. She showed them all how to diagnose and treat the simpler injuries without the use of magic, stressing the importance of hygiene and cleanliness. To her surprise, Enchanter Ellandra joined in after a few of her lessons, having been impressed with her work. She enjoyed the enchanter’s presence, for the woman had a quick mind, and was more open-minded than the others. Samarra managed to coerce Ellandra into returning with her to Haven, claiming that her services were much needed in the village.

During her third week there, she had a vision. A bandit, posing as a refugee, had infiltrated the Crossroads with the intention of assassinating her. She’d pointed him out to Vale, and the discomfited bandit soon found himself facing several very angry men and women. She’d personally questioned him, cheerfully threatening to lop off his balls if he didn’t comply - a threat that had all the men in the room wince - and the man had quickly divulged the location and whereabouts of the rest of his party. Vale and Whittle dealt efficiently with them, killing the more bloodthirsty of the lot and sparing some of the younger boys who had been hard-pressed and threatened into joining the bandits. The young lads had joined the Inquisition, signing up with Vale's irregulars, promising to walk a better path. 

To her surprise, she found herself settling in among them well. She soon knew everyone’s names, and would spend time chatting away with them and getting to know them. She was fond of the children too, but she had no experience with them, and so had no idea what they enjoyed. But she would occasionally play with them, and helped repair some of their dolls and other toys. She found herself following a comfortable routine. She began the day by practicing the techniques she learnt in the Fade, then she’d check in on her patients, then talk to the new refugees who sought shelter, examining them for illnesses. She would teach the healers as she did so, explaining signs, symptoms and treatment strategies. Afternoons were spent making potions and reading the guide to Thedosian flora, and evenings were spent conversing with the people. After supper she would make notes in her journal - her thoughts on the day, a new recipe she had discovered. The english script, she’d come to find out, was nothing like Common. It had disconcerted her to find herself adeptly reading Common from some child’s book. She still didn’t know where her language abilities had come from, but she pushed it to the back of her mind, determined not to worry about it. At night, she either spent time with her new spirit friends or with Solas. They’d come to an uneasy agreement that he would teach her how to defend herself from demons, and that she would spend four days a week learning from him, with the remaining three days hers to do as she wished. She held her tongue about what she’d discovered he was trying to do to her, and he didn’t broach the subject either, but each time she was away from him she could tell the difference. 

Whenever someone praised her, she would smile and state that it was the Inquisition’s doing, not hers. And so it was that by the time Helena and the others returned to the Crossroads triumphantly riding in on horses, they found a very different Crossroads altogether, one where optimism and hope reigned. Where the people once walked fearful, now they moved about with smiles. Samarra had to stifle her laughter at the look on Helena’s face as the people cheerily welcome her and sang her praises.

“Are we in the right place?” Helena asked, bewildered. 

“Yes,” she replied with a laugh. “Thanks to you, the Crossroads are now a much safer place.”

“Thanks to me?” she exclaimed. “I did nothing! All this, here, all this was your work.”

“You handled the templars, mages and bandits,” Samarra demurred. “That brought stability.”

“Well, when we get back to Haven, we’ll have to talk more about all that you did here. It’s been vastly improved,” Helena said, “and we might be able to implement some of your ideas in other places. The support for the Inquisition you’ve raised is impressive!”

“Indeed,” Solas chimed in. “It seems as though you have worked a miracle.” His eyes were sharp as they bored into hers. She suppressed a shudder. “Not a miracle,” she stated with an easy smile. “Just using what I know.”

“It appears I have much to learn from you,” he commented.

She made a noncommittal sound. _Listen, bud, after the crap you’ve been pulling on me in the Fade, do you really think I’m going to tell you anything?_

Yeah, not going to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
>  _Dirth’ena Enasalin_ \- techniques of the Arcane Warrior (knowledge that leads to victory)  
>  _Panathe’virelan_ \- battle mage (walker of battle)
> 
> This chapter marks 120 pages in the Word document I write/type in. Das a lotta pages :O
> 
> Lye is basically a strong alkaline solution, made in the olden days by soaking ashes (rich in potassium carbonate) in water, forming potassium hydroxide. Diluted down, it can be used for a variety of purposes, including soap making and cleaning. I'm extending it's use as a disinfectant for story by virtue of it having such a high pH. Theoretically, bacteria can't grow at a very high pH, so.. it's not entirely baseless?
> 
> I'm.. kind of taking a lot of liberty here as far as spirits are concerned. I know they can impart knowledge, but it's never been clear what the limit is, so I'm just going for it.
> 
> Also, what is Solas trying to pull anyway? o.O


	20. Sometimes People Aren't What You Expect Them To Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Solas-Samarra interaction...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: last post for this week!
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
>  
> 
> I just wanted to give a shoutout to everyone who leaves me comments! I appreciate all your suggestions and feedback. [And thanks for the kudos too! And for the reading! Really, just everything. I hope you're all enjoying reading this as much I enjoy writing it!]

Leliana, Cullen and Josephine were pleased with the support they’d raised for the Inquisition, but Samarra was rather alarmed. The faith of the people in the Inquisition meant that more people flocked to Haven, and soon the village was bursting beyond capacity. They had to set up tents on the outskirts of the village to accommodate the newcomers, and Samarra found herself spearheading the same campaigns she’d implemented in the Crossroads in an effort to control hygiene and sanitation. Thankfully - and luckily for her - the others had seen the success she’d had and backed her entirely.

But there was another matter at the front of her mind. She knew that Helena was preparing to leave for Val Royeaux, and knew what they faced in the city. She did not know whether the Herald would approach the mages or the templars, but some instinct told her that the woman was reasonable and logical, and would approach the mages to prevent their fate. If that were true, she would have to do all she could to make sure she could save as many of the good templars as she could.

“Cullen?” she called out softly, knocking on the door to his office. He raised his head from the document he was perusing, and pinned her with his golden eyes. “How can I help you?” he asked, his voice measured.

She hadn’t had a chance to properly chat with the Commander because he was a busy man. As was she. Plus, he was kind of intimidating, although she’d never admit it to anyone. From her vantage point, she could see the ripple of his muscles beneath his armor, feel the aura of command around him. She’d observed him as much as she could, and she could find none of the bashful, shy mannerisms that the game had attributed to him. It hadn’t made sense to her even when she’d played the game - no Commander could afford to be a bumbling, stammering fool. No, he truly was a Commander- confident, slightly cocky, imposing and awe-inspiring. She’d watched him rip to shreds recruits who took training too lightly, had seen him praise and inspire his men when they were down, and she’d been thoroughly impressed.

And, if she was being honest, more than a little turned on.

But she knew that, as attractive as she found Cullen, that she would never make a move on him. Not just because she knew Helena would end up with him - and she thought they would be well suited indeed - but because despite his somewhat relaxed attitude towards mages, he would never fully trust magic. And the fact that she was an apostate would always have him wary of her.

_Such a pity. I mean, who in their right mind wouldn’t want to take a bite out of that glorious piece of eye candy. And what a bite it would be. Mmmmm._

_Focus, woman! Stop drooling._

“Can I talk to you, privately?” she asked politely.

“Of course, seeress.”

She winced. “Please, call me Samarra. I hate the titles.” She shut the door firmly behind her, and took the chair on the other side of his desk. “I have seen something that… concerns me, and I believe you may be the only one who can help me.”

He grew serious. “Is the Herald in danger?” he demanded.

“No, she will be fine.” _Well, as fine as she can be amidst all this anyway. Trust me, you don’t want to know what happens if she goes to the mages_. “It is about the templars. My visions are hazy, but they tell me that… they are not as they were? I cannot make sense of it, I can’t see clearly enough. I know they will not talk to us, but you should contact them. There is one by the name of Ser Barris. He is a good man. You should contact him and offer him a position in the Inquisition. Ask him to bring his men with him.”

Cullen leaned back in his chair, and tented his fingers together. “You realize that I am no longer part of the Templar Order?” he stated. “The templars will not listen to me.”

She shook her head. “You are not talking to the right people then,” she insisted. “Contact Ser Barris. He will listen.” _You don’t understand, Cullen! They become red templars! It’s a terrible thing that happens to them. The least we can do is get some of the better ones out of there. I hope Barris listens. Please, Barris, you have to join the Inquisition. You can’t become a red templar, you’re a good man and you don’t deserve that._

He scanned her face, and nodded. “Very well. I will do as you say.”

“Thank you, Cullen. There is… one more thing, however.”

His eyes narrowed. “What?”

She swallowed. She suddenly felt like a mouse in front of a very hungry cat. _Or in his case, lion would be more appropriate, I guess_. “I’m aware of your… headaches,” she stated as calmly as she was able. “I know they are as a result of lyrium withdrawal. You have my word that I will not tell anyone else about it,” she cut him off as he was about to protest, “because it is not my secret to share. However, I can make it manageable for you. I can mix up a draught that will help with the pain. You do not have to suffer in silence, Commander.”

He glowered at her, and for an instant she wasn’t sure if she had done the right thing. He seemed very angry with her, and she wondered what he would do to her. Then he exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging the slightest bit with the action. “I will take you up on that offer,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

She reached out and gripped his hand. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m proud of your decision,” she said simply, then left the room, knowing he needed some space.

She found her way over to Leliana’s base of operations, observing the flurry of activity within the tents. Leliana’s voice was a murmur, reminding her of silk-covered steel. She watched, as ravens both arrived and were despatched with messages, how the spymaster cooed over them. There was a softness in her expression as she did so, a gentleness that made Samarra truly believe that the woman had been inspired by the sight of a single blooming flower in the dead of winter. She waited for the redhead to notice her, smiling pleasantly as Leliana strode over to meet her. For the first time, the spymaster’s face was neither cold nor distrustful, and Samarra couldn’t help but wonder why.

“I owe you thanks,” Leliana said in her lilting accent. “You have saved two of my best men. Butler has been questioned, and the information he provided helped us prevent spies from Tevinter from infiltrating the Inquisition. I am still tracking them, but if you have any information in the matter, please come to me.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she replied. “Is Sedrick well?”

“Yes. He has been training to recover his strength. Lucky for us, he retained his memory.”

“Good,” she murmured.

“Is there a reason you came to see me?” The Nightingale’s silver eyes gazed at her curiously.

“Actually, yeah. Two things. Haven is getting very crowded. Far too crowded for regular defenses,” she said, wondering how to explain things to the keen-eyed woman before her so as not to rouse suspicion. “It might be wise to find a course of exit for the villagers, should it be needed.”

The redhead’s eyes narrowed. “Have you seen something?” she demanded.

Samarra sighed. “It is but common sense, Leliana,” she persuaded. “Whoever caused the Breach must have heard of our efforts to close it. They might attack. If they do, we do not have enough men to defend the village and protect the villagers. We need to have a secret way out of the village should the need arise.”

Leliana seemed mollified by her explanation. “I will talk to Cullen about it,” she said. 

“Actually, I believe Chancellor Roderick might be of help there,” _Fuck it. If I’m going to tweak things… might as well help her out_. “I’ve seen a hazy vision of a path, something he has walked along. Maybe if you talk to him, he will know more.”

“I shall do so. What was the other matter you wanted to talk about?”

“Oh that. I was, uhhh… I was wondering. If you would teach me.”

“Teach you?”

“You were a bard, were you not? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to become a bard. I’m not sure I could do the singing, or the spying. But I do want to learn how to fight like one.”

Leliana looked contemplative. “Fighting as a bard does requires more than just a desire,” she replied. “Bards are trained to use several weapons. To learn to wield your very body as a weapon should the need arise. Bards are required to be flexible, mentally invincible, ruthless and unruffled. While you wield a bow well, I am not sure you have the necessary skills.”

“I can learn,” she said, determined. And she was. _If I am to match Solas, I must become like him. I must learn to think as he does, to maneuver and manipulate as he does. With Leliana’s help, I can at the very least start going down the path. If I cannot learn his secrets, I must at the very least prevent him from learning mine._

The former bard gave her a calculating look. “We shall see. Tomorrow, at the first light of dawn. Meet me in the training grounds. Your first task is to remain hidden until you find me.”

_That’s… a weird request. I mean, she’s a rogue. All she has to do is to slip into stealth. How am I going to manage that? Is there like a cloaking spell or something?_

“Okay,” she nodded. “I will see you then.”

She dropped by the infirmary, pleased to see that Ellandra had settled in well with Giles, Everna and Ashalle. She invited them to join her for dinner, stating that she really wanted to get to know them, especially since they would all be working together. In her absence, the three elves had really grown into their own, and ran the infirmary just as she’d insisted - with hygiene and efficiency, and lots of kindness. 

She’d asked Leliana to keep an eye out for any hostility against them. It seemed as though the spymaster had quelled any nay-sayers. The trio assured her that the villagers had been nothing but respectful towards them. _Just as it damn well should be. I’m captain of this here ship, and if they don’t like my rules, I’m going to make them walk the plank… straight out of the infirmary._

She retired to her rooms, mulling over the possibility of taking a nap. While she’d grown accustomed to sleeping on the floor during her time in the Hinterlands, it was _so nice_ to get back to sleeping on a decent mattress. When she walked in through the door, there was a wrapped parcel on the table waiting for her. Curious. I wonder what it is. She tore it open, to find a beautiful fur-trimmed overcoat. The inner lining was made from a wool so soft she could hardly believe it was wool, while the outside of the coat had jet-black fur, and bore a vague resemblance to Cullen’s pauldrons. Nothing like those fuzzy, rapper-style fur coats - this was all elegance and grace. It even had a hood, the lining of which was trimmed with the same fur. She gently ran her hand through the fur. It was silky, soft and smooth, and she was puzzled to find the gentlest thrum of magic emanating from it. She pulled it out and shook it out, airing it, and slipped into it.

It was gloriously, wonderfully, sublimely warm.

She spied a note at the bottom of the parcel, and picked it up. It was written in what she recognized immediately as elven script, the writing clean and crisp and elegant: _We did not come across any bears. I hope wolves will suffice._

With trembling fingers, she picked up the amulet that was enclosed with the note. She knew what it was without even having to look at it closely. She knew it would be the Token of the Packmaster. Her mind ran over the in-game description - _A wolf dropped this token_ \- and what it did - _when equipped by the player, wolves do not attack the party._

Bewildered, she dropped down onto her bed, still clutching the note. _What is this? Why would he… why would he go out of his way? I mean… he not only remembered a random request I made - and not even to him at that - and… why? To bring back the wolf pelts, to have them made into this coat, to enchant it… what is he trying to say? Is this a test? Is he trying to rattle me into confessing I know who he is? Or is he trying to tell me that he suspects I know who he is? Is this meant as a bribe of some sort? The wolf fur… the token of the packmaster… wolves do not attack the party… is it supposed to mean something? Is this some weird way of telling me he won’t hurt me? That he doesn’t mean me any harm? This is kind… and thoughtful… and generous. This… this isn’t like him. He… he doesn’t do things like this in the game… where has it come from? And why me? I always argue with him… I’m rude to him at times… I know I aggravate and annoy him… why would he give me something like this?_

_Are you going to keep it?_

_I… I don’t know. Should I? It has magic, but it seems to be only to make the coat waterproof and keep it clean. Nothing malicious, I think…_

_You know he can be tricky and manipulative, right? I mean, look at how he’s got you second-guessing yourself!_

_But… why would he go out of his way to get this made for me? And HOW? It’s not like we have tailors around. There’s just… something doesn’t add up… oh lord, I’m so confused. No, no, it’s cool. He put in a lot of effort into this. It would be unimaginably rude of me to reject it. I should go thank him. I’m going to go thank him._

She carefully took off the coat, hanging it on her arm, and donned the amulet. It was a pretty little thing, a circular disc made of silver with an imprint of a wolf’s paw in the middle. It came to rest between her breasts, and it seemed to hum contentedly as it caught the heating of her heart.

She felt strangely protected.

She shook her head. _Just a silly sentiment. You can’t afford to get caught up in some romantic notion of Solas - Solas, of all people! - wanting to keep you safe, or some shit like that. This isn’t some sappy, happily-ever-after fanfiction. You better keep that in mind._

She knocked on his door to alert him of her presence before stepping in. “Solas,” she began hesitantly, “I… thank you. For the coat. And the amulet. They’re… they’re both very beautiful.”

He frowned slightly when he spotted the coat hanging over her arm. “Is it not to your liking?” he asked.

“Oh, no, no, nothing like that, no,” she stammered. 

“But you are not wearing it,” he noted dryly.

She blushed. _Oh come on, blushing, really? What are you, a teenager with a crush?_ “Honestly? I’m kind of scared I’ll damage it,” she confessed. “It’s so beautiful, I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to it.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement. “It has been enchanted,” he said. “You do not have to worry about damaging it. It is well protected.”

Feeling foolish, and like she was being ungrateful, she shrugged the coat on, her face breaking into a smile as she felt the warmth cocoon her. She’d never told anyone, but she loathed the cold, and had been using the little magic she knew to keep herself warm. But it had been taxing, and she had to constantly focus on not setting other things aflame. But this coat… was perfection.

“Do you know,” she grinned, burrowing herself deeper into the coat, “I have been _so damn cold_ all the time, and it was so draining trying to keep myself constantly warm with magic.”

“I noticed,” he replied with a small smile. “You were not very subtle.”

She flushed red. “Yeah, well…” she cleared her throat. “This is… this is the nicest thing anyone has done for me. You didn’t have to…. I mean, this must have cost you a fortune!”

He made a dismissive gesture. “Do not worry yourself over trivialities,” he brushed off her objections. 

_Fuck it. Someone does something this nice for you, they deserve more than a generic thank you._ She stepped closer and hugged him. 

Immediately, she felt that magnetic pull, that siren’s song that vibrated in her bones. It made her want to move closer to him, to pull him close. It wove seductively around her body, inviting her to surrender to the sensation.

Swallowing hard against the temptation, she pulled away, sure that her face was on fire. “Thank you,” she stuttered out breathily, her eyes scanning his face. She swallowed again when she locked into his eyes; his pupils had dilated, swallowing up the iris till all that remained was a thin silver ring circling the blackness of his pupils. His nostrils were flared, and his jaw was clenched so tight she feared he might damage his teeth.

He was a predator. There was no doubt about that.

And he looked like he was going to devour her.

He took the smallest of steps towards her, testing her response. She was too mired in… Fear? Anticipation? Consternation? Definitely _something_ … to do anything but stare back at him.

There was a knock on the door, and she snapped out of the haze. She saw him turn his face away from the door and walk back to his desk, shuffling through the papers that were scattered across it. “Message for the Oracle,” the clueless runner stated. “The Commander and Sister Nightingale wish to meet with you.”

“I’ll be along shortly,” she replied, forcing a smile on her face. He gave her a short bow and left.

She cleared her throat. It felt dry and raspy, and it was reflected in her voice when she finally spoke. “Thank you. I really like them. A lot.” Unsure of what else to say, she spun around and walked out of the hut, unaware that his predatory eyes followed her retreating figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wolf coat! _dun dun dunnnnnn_
> 
> [In case someone things I approve of fur - nope, I do not. I like animals! This is only for story purposes.]
> 
> One of my favorite characters in the game is Interrupting Jim. I'd be tempted to write a chapter with his POV if it would fit into the story. Who knows, amirite?


	21. Play Your Cards Carefully If You Want To Stay In The Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People sometimes do stuff out of character. Then what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Back to (at least) weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> 3000+ hits? Say whaaaaat. I can't believe it!! Thank you so much to each and every one of you who takes time to read this. ♡
> 
> * * *

The evening was what she would definitely call a success. The dinner with her fellow healers had morphed into something more, with Varric joining in and teaching them all how to play Wicked Grace. He’d managed to pull Helena and Cassandra in, and soon after Cullen had found himself sitting at the table, nurturing a tankard between his hands. She didn’t miss the shy glances he and Helena exchanged, and judging by the wink Varric had sent her way, the dwarf hadn’t either.

She had gotten thoroughly and roaringly drunk, and poor Ashalle had had to help her back to her room. Not that the elf had minded - the woman had come out of her shell, and she had even laughed a few times over the course of the evening.

When Samarra opened her eyes the next morning, she was assaulted by two sensations. The first, and most predominant, was the feeling that her tongue and her eyes rivalled the Sahara. The second was a gnawing hunger, accentuated by the growl her stomach gave.

Thankfully, her head wasn’t pounding, and for that, she was grateful. Her hangovers had always been the envy of her friends - she was never sick the next morning, didn’t have the headache that accompanied a night of heavy drinking. The most she felt was thirsty, and that was easily remedied. She forced herself off the bed, splashing water on her face, rinsing her mouth and cleaning her teeth as quietly as she could without disturbing Helena. The sun hadn’t yet risen, and she cursed herself for drinking herself into oblivion the night before her test with the Nightingale.

Groaning softly, she pulled on her armor coat and boots. _Right_ , she thought. _She said I needed to find her without getting caught myself._

_She didn’t say who would catch you, though._

_She didn’t, did she? Okay, that’s pretty sneaky of her. I’m sure she’ll get the scouts to track me. Great, I’m so going to lose._

_You should have asked Solas for a cloaking spell instead of making moon eyes at him._

_I was NOT making moon eyes at Solas!_

_Oh yeah? What was with all the blushing and stammering then?_

_I was… I was being polite!_

_Yeah, right. I know what you were thinking. You wanted him to push you back against the wall and -_

_SHUT UP._

_You’re no fun. Hey, maybe if you asked Helena for help, she could create a distraction._

_Or she might kill me for waking her up._

_There’s that. Maybe sneak out of the window?_

_Worth a shot._

She pushed open the window quietly, creeping out into the snow as silently as she could. Closing it behind her, she pondered her options. She had a long way to go to reach the training grounds. One way would take her around Leliana’s base of operations, so that was ruled out, which only left her the option of creeping past the tavern.

_That’ll have to do_ , she thought.

She pulled the hood of her coat up, covering her face. In what she considered a stroke of genius, she returned to the room, pulling Helena’s coat over hers. She began walking down the path quietly, trying to hide herself behind as many obstacles as possible. When she saw a group of drunk villagers returning to their beds, she slipped in between them. She managed to make it to the gates without getting caught, although she kept waiting for someone to pop up and shout “gotcha!” at any moment.

She walked towards the past the first of the training grounds, puzzled to see it empty. Moving past, she headed towards the distant grounds, usually kept for the more proficient warriors. As she made her way towards it, she was ambushed. Two men jumped her, one tackling her to the ground while the other tried to pin down her flailing limbs. She fought back, trying to use the skills she’d learned and not her magic. But when they began dragging her away from the village towards the forest, she panicked, and brought her magic to the forefront. The ropes that bound her burnt away to ashes, and with a loud scream she let loose a fireball at them. It caught them unawares, and soon their shouts of pain echoed through the early morning air. They roared and came at her swinging, and she raised a barrier quickly. Summoning lightning to her fingertips, she launched electric bolts at them. It struck one, then bounced off him to hit the other, and they went crashing down into the snow. She walked over, panting, and examined their bodies. They had been knocked out, but they would live. She debated what to do next, but to her relief she spotted some of Cullen’s men running towards her. She explained what had happened, and watched mutely as they dragged the men away.

She made her way to the training grounds, shaken, but determined not to falter in front of Leliana. The spymaster was waiting for her, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “Interesting effort,” she said once Samarra stood before her. “Wearing the Herald’s coat was a good idea. Maybe you might be able to learn, after all.”

_That’s it? Aren’t you going to ask me what happened? Are you just going to ignore it? Unless… dammit, Leliana, sending people after me is not funny! Not funny at all! I could’ve killed them!_

“Great,” Samarra replied, a little stiffly. “You know, if you’re going to send people after me, you should let me know. I could have killed those two men, for all you know.”

Leliana laughed - actually laughed! - at her expression. “I thought you would have had a vision of some sort,” she explained. “In any case, the men would have informed you of the test had they pinned you down successfully. And you were smart enough to recognize that they could provide you with information, so you chose to knock them out instead of killing them.”

“But that’s taking one too many chances!” Samarra exclaimed, shaken by the casualness of the spymaster.

“Do you remember what I said about always being calm and clear-headed? You must learn that. Never let your opponent know how you truly feel. You must always appear charming and collected. Your approach was far too attention-grabbing. You need to learn to be more silent, more stealthy.”

“Wonderful,” she muttered.

Leliana handed her two dirks, their edges winking in the weak light of the early morning sun, as well as a belt that with sheaths for the daggers. “Now then,” she said, her voice brisk and all business, “you wanted to learn. And so you shall.”

The spymaster was a brutal taskmaster, drilling her mercilessly. She was forbidden from using her magic either in offense or defense - “you must learn how to rely on your blades alone,” the former bard had said - and so her posterior kissed the snow-covered ground so many times she thought it might just be better for her to remain planted there permanently.

Of course, Leliana wouldn’t let her. _Parry, thrust, slash_ , she practiced on the dummy, the spymaster observing her every moment with an eagle eye. Each time she made an error, she was rapped neatly over the knuckles, and soon they turned bright red, throbbing with a constant dull pain. When the Nightingale was finally pleased, Samarra hobbled her way to the edge of the ring to find Solas waiting for her, holding two staffs in his hand. “Oh no,” she groaned. “I can’t take any more fighting,” she said.

Solas said nothing, his eyes filled with amusement. Taking her hand in his, he ran his thumb gently over her poor, abused knuckles. Instantly, the pain and redness vanished, and she sighed in relief as she stretched her fingers. 

“The spymaster is not a gentle teacher, it would seem.” he chuckled at the sardonic look she gave him. 

“Did you really think otherwise?” she rolled her eyes.

“You are learning how to wield daggers? Is archery and magic not enough for you?” he questioned, quirking a brow.

“Can’t hurt, right? Plus, I mean, Leliana’s teaching me. I can’t say no to that offer, you know?”

“All this training seems rather out of place for a healer,” he observed, his eyes sharp and keen.

She shrugged. “A person can’t rely on anyone but themselves. Sure, I’m a healer, but I have to learn to defend myself.”

“A wise notion,” he said approvingly. “Since you seem too tired to continue our practice, we will instead continue our theory learning. I will teach you more glyphs.”

“Woo!” she cheered tiredly. “Can we meet after breakfast? I want a bath, and some food.”

“If I do not see you in the tavern, I will meet you at our usual training spot,” he said.

“Works for me.” They walked back towards the village in silence, each lost in their thoughts. At least she was. The little matter of the very thoughtful gift was rampaging through her mind like a particularly annoyed druffalo. She desperately wanted to know why. 

Tentatively, she began. “About the coat… “

“You have thanked me sufficiently. There is no need to do so again.”

“No.. I mean, yes, I’m grateful for it, but… _why_?”

His face when he looked at her was unreadable. “You required a coat, and i was in a position to provide you with one.”

_But why, Solas? That’s not like you! What are you not telling me? Is this your way of trying to buy my trust? Or will you ask me for a favor in return in the future? What is your plan, old wolf?_

Not sure what to say to his reply, she remained silent.

When she met him for her lessons later in the day, she wore his coat. It hadn’t been an easy decision, but she’d finally come to the conclusion she needed to stop the whole issue from gnawing away at her. She’d accept it as just a gift, nothing more, and leave it at that.

_It really is a great coat_ , she thought, snuggling into the soft fur. She pulled the hood up, and for a brief, silly instant she felt like a wolf, ready to pounce on some hapless prey. She laughed to herself at the absurd notion, and remnants of her mirth still remained on her face when she finally caught up to him.

He seemed inordinately pleased to see her in it, even though his face betrayed nothing.

He took her through the intricate art of glyph writing, teaching her the complex and beautiful symbols that were assigned to a spell. Soon, she knew several dozens of them, and her head was spinning in an attempt to remember them all. He took a look at her dazed expression and chuckled. “It appears I have overwhelmed you. We shall stop here for the day. Practice what you have learnt, and familiarize yourself with them.”

Even though she was a little bit overcome with the plethora of new information, the subject was interesting and she was loathe to stop. “Overwhelm me? Pfffft, don’t be silly Solas. I can keep going!”

“Is that so?” his voice was low and smooth. “In that case I must definitely cease. It is always those who claim they can push themselves that break the fastest.”

_Wait… HOLD UP. Is that… was that… what is going on?_

She meant to be blase. She really did. But her brain wouldn’t cooperate with her mouth. “Do I look like I break easily, Solas?” She demanded, unconsciously injecting a challenge into her tone.

_Woman, what are you doing. What. Are. You. Doing._

His grin was potent, and took her mind down the most wicked paths. “Would you like to find out?”

She should have been afraid. Should have been wise enough to recognize danger when she saw it, and turn away. Run, actually. Instead, she held her ground and stood firm as he took the step that brought him inches away from her.

He was a good eight or so inches taller than her, so that she had to crane her neck upwards slightly to meet his eyes. This close, she could feel the heat from his body. His magic called out to her, but she didn’t understand what it said. His eyes were not the dark, predatory ones of the day before, instead lit with provocative intent.

She gulped, and his the corners of his lips lifted up into a smirk. Alarm bells set off in her head, and she took a hasty step backwards, her eyes wide and wary.

He snickered. “We will meet tomorrow,” he said, the words laced in some indecipherable promise, and walked casually away from her, leaving her gaping at his back.

_What the everloving fuck is wrong with you? Seriously? He gets you a coat and you go to pieces, practically throwing yourself into his arms! Have some more self-control, woman! I bet he’s laughing at you, laughing at how easily manipulated you are. You want that? You want him to be your little puppetmaster?_

_I couldn’t help it!_

_Yeah, right. Look, if you just need to get laid… I’m sure you can find someone._

_Aaaaaand you’ve managed to frighten my vagina. Great going._

_I’m just saying. Maybe you do just need some hot, intense, no-strings-attached sex. Maybe then you’ll stop this whole flirting with Solas business._

_I’m not sleeping with anyone, dammit!_

_Yeah, well, if you don’t, you’re probably going to end up banging the egg._

_I’m not going to sleep with the egg!_

She was in an irritable mood the rest of the day, and decided to have a relaxing evening, heading over to the tavern for a pint and Wicked Grace with Varric. She found Helena already there with the dwarf, and her mood considerably lightened.

“So, there’s talk about me having to go to Val Royeaux to talk to the Chantry,” Helena said, her eyes fixed on her cards.

“Not for another week or so,” she replied absently.

“Hah! You owe me five silvers, Glowbug. Told you she’d have seen it.” Varric chortled.

She raised her head to look at the dwarf. “Wait, are you guys _betting_ on me? Why am I not in on this?” she gave him a mock-glare.

“Duh, because you could just see the result and skew things for everyone else,” Helena laughed.

She pouted. “I’m feeling left out. You guys are mean.”

“That is unacceptable,” a smooth voice from behind her stated. “We must rectify the matter.”

_Oh come on. What’s he doing here? Haven’t you annoyed me enough, your elfy wolfiness? Now go away and leave me alone! Besides, you don’t play wicked Grace! You were never there in that scene. Shoo!_

“Chuckles! Great to see ya. Shall I deal you in?”

His eyes caught hers. She frowned at him. _Say no. Go away. Go awaaaaaaaaay._

“Yes, I believe I will join in.” He pulled up a chair next to her, and slid into it. 

“We’re playing for money,” she said unwelcomingly.

“No matter. I can lend Chuckles some. He can always pay me back later.” Varric said, directing a knowing grin at her, and she glowered at him.

“Thank you, Master Tethras.” he replied gracefully.

“Do you even know how to play?” She knew she was being rude, but she really, really did not want to be around him.

“We can teach him!” Helena chirped. _Oh come on what did I do to deserve this. Seriously. I just wanted an evening of Thedas poker and beer, and now I’m stuck with HIM. Why is this happening?_

Helena and Varric gave Solas a brief rundown of the rules, and the various combinations one could create from the cards. She steadfastly refused to look at him, instead nursing her mug of mead - which was surprisingly decent - and giving her companions baleful looks.

When they began playing, Samarra found herself losing. And badly. The first round went to Varric, and Helena took the second round. Every round after that was taken by Solas, and she noted with dismay her dwindling pile of coins. When Varric asked her if she wanted in for the tenth round, she declined. “I can’t afford to,” she joked. “You guys are bleeding me dry!”

“More like Solas is bleeding the rest of us dry,” Varric muttered. The dwarf was very disgruntled on account of losing to a newcomer. She snickered. _Serves you right_ , she thought. _Oh well. I guess I can look at this as a way of paying Solas back_. Despite their persuasions, she refused to budge. “It’s been great, losing and all,” she grumbled, “but I really need to get some rest if I have to face Leliana again tomorrow. She called out her goodbyes to the rest of the familiar faces in the tavern, and walked back towards her room. 

_Houston, we have a situation. How am I supposed to handle this version of Solas?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A flirty Solas might be more dangerous to Samarra than stoic Solas could ever be. Oh dear.


	22. A Little Help From Friends Goes A Long Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn how old Samarra is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly (at least)
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> It's three thirty in the morning here. I just got done 'accidentally' writing two Skyhold-based chapters, so here ya go. (Val Royeaux is coming up soon, I promise!)
> 
> Thank you for all your comments and kudos! I really appreciate every one of them ♡
> 
> * * *

“You are definitely new,” Samarra said to the newcomer. He wasn’t like the other spirits. He didn’t look like a spirit, period. He was dressed in what she thought would be clothing that a noble would wear. His face was covered with a fox mask, and he was smiling at her.

“One of my friends informed me that you could use my help,” he stated.

“Use your help? Are you going to teach me the Game? No offense, but I know plenty about the game. If you had the kind of family I had, it was impossible to live without knowing how to.” she joked weakly.

“A fascinating story, and one I’d certainly like to hear more about later, but no, that is not why I am here. My name is - or, to be more accurate, was - Lord Remi Vascal.” He looked expectantly at her, as though she should recognize his name.

“Lord Remi Vascal? Why does that sound familiar?” She wracked her brain. _Was he the guy Hawke flirts with at Chateau Haine? No, that’s Cyril de Montfort. Was he the asshole who attacked the Alienage in Origins?... No, wasn’t that Vaughan Kendells? And who accompanied him, uhhhh…. Braden and Jonaley. Wow, I know a lot of random stuff. Good for me, I guess? But who the heck is Remi Vascal? Wait a minute!! The Black Fox!! Lord Remi Vascal was the Black Fox!_

“You’re the Black Fox!” she gasped out in awe. 

“Finally!” he huffed. “Do you know, you’re the first person to recognize my name since my demise. It is rather disheartening to know that my name has been forgotten so soon.”

“So… uhhh… are you a ghost or something? I mean… you were human… but you’re here… in the Fade… so, like… are you really you, or are you a spirit who’s taken Lord Remi’s form?”

“An good question. What do you believe?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye.

She thought about it. “Well, considering I’m someone who isn’t even from this world… why can’t you be the ghost of the Black Fox? Let’s go with that.”

“An interesting decision. Now, why was I informed that you were in need of my services?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure. I think it might have something to do with me wanting to learn how to become a bard, maybe?” she said.

“Bah!” he gestured dismissively. “A bard is but one branch of the tree. What you need, young lady, is to embrace the ways of a rogue. You see, my dear, a rogue is the craftiest of combatants. We succeed in battle by combining speed, subterfuge, and a wide range of abilities, and we can bring our opponents down in the most unexpected of ways - sometimes before they can even perceive danger.”

She listened intently, completely fascinated by his lecture.

“The first and foremost rule about becoming a rogue is that you must use every advantage you have. Rogues thrive in the shadows, and we care little about the honorable methods of fighting - our goal is to bring down the opponent by any means. We fight with precision, we focus on a single target at a time and we dismantle our target with ruthless and deadly efficiency. We use stealth and mobility to reach positions of advantage. Our foes dare not follow us into the shadows, for that is our domain. We are deadly and resourceful, and we can tip the balance of any attack.”

“That sounds… amazing. And way beyond my reach,” she said glumly.

“Pish tosh! Tell me, what weapons do you wield?” he demanded.

“I use a bow most often, but I’m training to use daggers,” she replied.

“Well then, we shall being our first lesson by learning more about your chosen weapons. As an archer, your mobility is your greatest asset. You should be able to leap clear of combat with ease - this will also help you avoid single pursuers. If someone dares to close in? Well, a simple arrow to the leg will pin them in place. If you chose to wield double daggers, then positioning is your best friend. Your goal should be teaming up with warriors or mages, or both, to deal out maximum damage while your foes are either distracted or disabled. Acrobatic strikes, strategically placed, will lacerate your foes and leave them bleeding out and steadily weakening, allowing you to slip behind stealthily for a devastating backstab.”

“Backstab sounds rather… I don’t know, like cheating,” she mumbled.

“If you think that manner, then the ways of the rogue are not for you,” he stated firmly. “Why do you want to become a rogue?”

“I want to learn how to become a bard,” she replied, confused.

“Yes, but why?” he persisted.

“I have… an opponent. I must prepare myself to spy on this opponent, to learn their secrets, to sabotage them if necessary. I need to be unpredictable to them, to hide my secrets from them. They are wily and cunning, and I am not. I must learn.”

“Understand this, then - _any means necessary_.”

“I will do all I can, as long as it does not harm someone innocent,” she stated.

“Tell me, this opponent of yours - does he share the same sentiment? Will he shy away from sacrificing the life of another in his objective to get to his goal?”

She thought of Felassan, of how Solas took away the Inquisitor’s hand. Even if the Anchor was killing the Inquisitor, she was sure he could have done something else, especially with all the power he held in Trespasser. Taking the Inquisitor’s hand had seemed like a way for him to disable his biggest opponent. “No,” she replied softly. “But I am not him,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to be like him.”

The Black Fox studied her face. “A rogue with morals,” he said approvingly. “You are much like me, then. Very well, my dear, I will teach you all that I knew in life, and all that I have learnt since.”

Where Leliana had been stern, rigid and exacting, the Black Fox was the opposite. He taught her to learn the rhythm of her body, to use her awareness of the position of her limbs to either attack or defend. He showed her how to enter into stealth, stating that she had the advantage of magic to aid her. He taught her to wrap the Veil around her as a cloaking mechanism, and showed her all the different ways one could hold a dagger.

“You are not limber enough, nor are you very nimble,” he said disapprovingly. “You must change that.”

“Listen, buddy, I’m thirty four years old. I’m not sure how much more nimble I can be,” she retorted.

“That is not an excuse,” he scoffed. He called over Strength, Agility and Cunning. “With your permission, they can help you.”

“You want them to possess me?” she asked, uneasy.

“Not at all. They will not possess you, only touch your mind and body to enhance what you already have. You will become stronger, more agile, more nimble. You will learn the ways of a rogue faster, and more easily,” he explained.

“Did that happen to you?” she asked.

“Indeed. I was fortunate enough to have Agility and Cunning take an interest in me. If it was not for them, I would hardly have been as successful as I was,” he grinned.

“It won’t hurt me, will it? She asked hesitantly.

“We do not wish to hurt you,” the spirits reassured her. “We only wish to help you.”

_Okay, this could be some kind of trick. You have to be careful. You don’t want to become possessed._

_You’re right. But on the other hand, if they can help me, I’d be stupid not to take it, right?_

_How do you know they can help you?_

“We can help!” the trio of spirits said indignantly. 

_They seem like the genuinely want to help. I’m going for it._ “Okay,” she murmured. “Let’s do this.”

The spirits formed a circle around her, and for a moment she panicked. They reached out their wispy, ethereal arms, and placed them on her head. Only… she didn’t feel it on her head, she felt it in her head, in her mind. She felt a warm glow envelop her mind, and move down her body, could feel her muscles grow stronger, felt her tendons and ligaments become limber. When Cunning touched her mind, she felt her awareness of her surroundings increase, was able to note every detail in her environment with a single casual glance. She felt very much like herself, but she definitely felt enhanced, and not in a boob-job kind of way.

They backed away slowly, and Samarra took in a deep breath and looked around. Small details were suddenly magnified. She noted how the edges of her Fade-space shimmered. She was aware of all the spirits and demons who clustered around her space, and knew they were desperately looking to gain access. She saw that the glow that Cunning, Agility and Strength emitted was dimmer than it had been, and knew it was because they had given her some of their energy, their being.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I would hug you…wait, actually, can I hug you?” she asked.

They smiled, “We can feel your affection. That is enough.”

“Well, I’m feeling very affectionate towards all of you. You included,” she said, turning towards the Black Fox.

“This is just the beginning, my dear,” he replied. “I have no doubt you will not only be my greatest pupil, but you will surpass even me at the end of our training.”

She flushed. “Well, that is a kind thing to say,” she tried to deflect, “but I’m sure it’s not true.”

He flicked his hands dismissively. “You will. Don’t argue with me. I know.”

She laughed. “I hope I do you justice, then.” She felt herself inching towards wakefulness. “I think I have to go,” she said. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” he scoffed. “Try and keep me away now. I shall have to think of a suitable name for you. Every good rogue has one, you know.”

When she opened her eyes, she was grinning from cheek to cheek. _Well that was interesting, being tutored by the same man who trained Duke Bastien. I wonder what Vivienne would have to say about that. Oh, right, she’d just yell ‘possession!’ and find some templars to smite me or something. Or find a way to do it herself._

Her session with Leliana was better than it was the previous day. Samarra could feel the difference in herself. She felt stronger - although she hadn’t had a chance to test it out - and her situational awareness and understanding had improved. Leliana still beat her soundly, and she had several bruises to her name by the end of it, but she had been able to get a good jab in once or twice, and more importantly, had been able to form a tentative pattern as to how the spymaster moved around the field. Her reflexes were much better too, and she felt quite the gymnast as she did flips and leaps to keep herself out of Leliana’s range of attack.

She tried not to focus on how disconcerting it was to find her body doing these things without really putting in any thought of effort into the motions.

It was cool. It was all cool. It was for a purpose, of course. There was no need to panic.

Breakfast was a welcome respite, and she practically inhaled in the food that Flissa placed in front of her, much to the amusement of her fellow healers. They’d decided to hold an informal meeting every morning over the meal, and she listened to their reports as she ate.

“The Jarvis children have frost-cough,” Ellandra reported. “It’s been neglected, and my efforts at healing them haven’t borne much result. You will want to take a look at them.”

“I’ll do that. Are they in any pain?” she asked.

“The younger one was, but Giles gave him some of the pain draught.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Oh, remind me to ask Josephine for some books on potions, will you? I keep meaning to ask her, but I’ve been so dang busy lately.”

Everna grinned. “Yes, we’ve heard about how Sister Nightingale sweeps the training grounds clean with you each morning.”

She stuck her tongue out and made a face at the elven woman. “I’m learning, okay? It takes time. Speaking of which - do all of you have some experience with weapons?”

Giles, Everna and Ashalle knew how to wield a bow, while Ellandra was used to a staff. 

“Okay, good. I’ll ask Leliana for weapons and armor for each of you. You can never be too careful. Get the Requisitions officer to give you a dagger each - if you don’t already have one, that is. I’m also working on a uniform - won’t happen immediately, but once we have resources to spare, we should look into it. That way, it’ll be easy to identify the healers from the Chantry sisters. I know they mean well, but if I hear one more suggestion of leeches, I’m afraid I’ll go crazy. The other day, I caught Sister Frances actually applying those creatures to a young child! A _child_!” she shuddered. “Where did she even get them from?”

“That’s a good idea,” Ellandra concurred. 

“I was thinking of a simple smock coat, in maybe a pale yellow? It’ll stand out and be easily recognizable. Ellandra and I can enchant them so that they won’t harbor stains. What do you think?”

“You’ve given it much thought,” Ashalle said, speaking for the first time during their meeting. “I like the idea.”

She wrapped up the meeting telling them to note down any ideas they had for improvements to the infirmary, or any materials they needed, then set off to check in on the Jarvis children. She was informed by their mother that the elder one was ten, while the younger was six. She examined them, uneasy - they were far too pale, their breathing shallow and rapid, and they exhaled with a hiss. Their cheeks were bright, angry red, so telling of a high fever, which she confirmed by placing a hand beneath their armpits. But what worried her most of all was that they were so thin, so frail. 

For the first time, she cursed the lack of equipment in this age. She would have killed for a stethoscope. While she was at it, she could also use a thermometer, a blood pressure cuff, and a torch. And an otoscope. An a funduscope. She rubbed her face wearily, then pressed her ear to their chests. The sound was gurgled, as though there was fluid present in spaces where it shouldn’t be. 

There was a tightness around her chest. If what she suspected was correct… they were all in big trouble. The only silver lining was that there were no other patients in the tent other than the two of them - it had been Ashalle’s idea to keep men, women and children separated, and for that, she was grateful. She washed her hands and face thoroughly with soap, and went in search of Solas. 

“I need your help,” she said somberly. 

“Of course,” he said, and accompanied her without question. She stopped by the supply tent and took two fresh towels from the laundered supply. “Wrap this around your neck and mouth,” she instructed, and did the same before taking him into the tent where the children lay. 

“I need you to examine them.” she said.

He raised his brows. “Am I supposed to search for something?” he asked. 

“Yes. I want you to check their lungs. Tell me what you sense,” she said, not providing him with any other information.

He did as she asked, passing his hands over their chests in a slow circle. He turned back to her once he was done, frowning. “There is something wrong,” he commented. “Their lungs… it is as though they have tiny seeds in them. Like grains of salt, but bigger.”

She exhaled sharply. _Miliary tuberculosis_. If left untreated, it was almost always fatal.

And she needed specialized antibiotics to treat the disease. Which she didn’t have.

She walked over and re-examined the children, mimicking his actions. When she let her magic flow into them, she immediately understood his statement - the granulomas in the lungs felt very odd and distinctive, like tiny little pimples against a smooth background. She passed her hand over their abdomen, and noted that their livers were enlarged, another symptom of the disease. She sighed, and walked over to the wash station to wash her hands, indicating to Solas that he should do the same. They regrouped outside the tent.

“The illness they have is serious,” he stated.

“Yes,” she said in a low voice. “Miliary tuberculosis. It is a terrible disease, it causes the sufferer to waste away into nothing. If left untreated, it is fatal.”

He looked at her keenly. “You do not have a cure,” he observed.

“No,” she agreed. “Not yet, anyway. I don’t know how magic can cure it. Do you?” she turned to him hopefully. 

He made a noncommittal sound. “I can look into it, but I have never come across this disease before. I cannot promise anything.”

“If I tell you the pathological basis for the disease, would that help?” she asked.

“Pathological?” he queried.

“The typical behavior of a disease,” she explained.

“That might help. We can discuss it in my room, if you’d like.” 

“I’ll join you there soon,” she promised. “I have to give some instructions to the other healers. I do not want other people catching this and falling sick.”

He nodded, and strolled casually back to the hut he shared with the dwarf. She hunted down the other healers, and gave them strict instructions not to let anyone else into the room. She told them that the children had a serious disease which was infectious, and that she was going to research into potential cures. She assigned Ellandra in charge, telling the enchanter to wear a mask when she went in to give the children the doses of the antimicrobial potion, and to wash her hands each time. Sensing her serious mood, they promised to obey, and to inform her in case anything changed.

She joined Solas in his room, finding him perusing The Basics Of Healing. Startled, and somewhat amused - she was sure he had no real need for the volume, given how skilled he was at healing - she knocked on the door to alert him. “Any luck?” she asked.

“None whatsoever. The library at Haven severely lacks in books that are actually informative. On the other hand, if one wanted to know the color of the dress Andraste wore when she first met the Maker, there are dozens of books that would provide one with that rather useless bit of information.”

She chuckled. “I’ve spoken to Josephine about it, and I have no doubt you have, too.”

“Indeed. The ambassador informs me that procuring books for the Inquisition is of the highest priority.”

“I think they’re more concerned with obtaining sufficient food and other supplies first,” she said, shrugging. “We’ve got many mouths to feed.”

“I did not mean to imply that that the ambassador was wrong. I agree that there are more important priorities for the Inquisition than the acquisition of books.” 

“Oh, yeah, no, I get you. I’d love it if she was able to get more books. But we’ll just have to make do with what we have,” she said, cheerfully.

“Of course,” he said evenly. “Shall we get started? What can you tell me of this disorder?”

“It’s a disease, not a disorder. A disease… ahh, never mind.”

“No, please continue,” he insisted. “I would very much like to know your thoughts.”

“Okay,” she shrugged. “A disorder is congenital - that is, a physical abnormality, or a trait that is present from birth - or genetic in nature. They can be treated, but tend to be more chronic in nature - that is, they tend to persist over the course of the person’s lifetime. They’re much more difficult to cure. They’re also pretty rare. Diseases, on the other hand, tend to be caused by microbes, and can be treated more easily, and more often than not, can be cured.”

“These concepts you talk about - genetics, microbes - what are they?” he asked, curious.

_Well, shit. There I go, running my mouth again. Why is it that the only person I can totally geek out with also happens to be the one person I shouldn’t have these discussions with? Maybe I should just shut my mouth till Dorian gets here. He’s a smart cookie._

She sighed. “Topics we can talk about another day,” she said. “Right now, we have other things to focus on.”

“I will hold you to it,” he replied with a small smile. “But please, proceed with your pathologic basis for the disease.” he echoed what she’d said to him earlier.

“Right. So, as you felt, the biggest symptom for the disease is the ‘seed’ like appearance in the lungs. Those are caused by the infection, but the problem is that it damages the lung tissue, leaving it liquid. The body’s natural defenses causes those areas to scar, which will eventually result in reduced lung function.”

“Is there anything else?” he asked.

“They have some fluid in the lungs - probably from the infection - and an enlarged liver. I suspect they might have multiple organ dysfunction as a result of adrenal insufficiency, but those are secondary. The primary target is the infection in the lungs. Fortunately, I did not see any cutaneous lesions, so I don’t think it has spread to the central nervous system or the bones.” She rattled off what she knew automatically.

“You are aware, I hope, that I am unfamiliar with most of the terminology you just used?” he remarked dryly.

She flushed. “I’m sorry. I tend to get ahead of myself. Basically, if we treat the lung infection, the other issues will go away by themselves. The big problem is to clear out the infection without having it damage the tissue of the lungs. If we are not careful, the areas of the lungs that have the seed-like texture can turn into scar tissue.”

“Can you not simply use magic to draw out the infection?” he asked.

“I suppose you could,” she replied, “but it would, as I mentioned, cause the infected tissue to become liquid. Then it would turn into scar tissue. The option is there, but I would rather we find another cure that does less damage. Scar tissue in the lungs would reduce lung function.”

They scoured through the few books they had at their disposal, bouncing ideas of one another. For a man who had little to no idea of the concepts of microbial pathology, he seemed to understand the basics, and offered well-thought out suggestions. She felt like she was back in her med school days, discussing patient cases with her fellow residents. Those times had been filled with stress and sleepless nights, but she had thoroughly enjoyed the intellectual conversations she’d had.

“It occurs to me that the easiest solution would be to find a way to repair the scar tissue into normal tissue,” Solas said at last.

She stared at him, dumbfounded. “Oh my go- Maker, you are absolutely right. You are brilliant. Is there a way to do that?” she asked.

“I have never treated internal tissue scars, but I suspect it would be much the same as treating scars on the skin,” he said.

“Solas, you’re a genius and I could kiss you,” she said excitedly. “That’s it. That’s all we need to do. Will you show me how?” she asked.

The tips of his ears turned red in pleasure. “Of course. I can demonstrate on the youngest, and guide you through the process on the elder one.”

“Perfect,” she declared. “I’ll get Ellandra, too. I’m sure she’ll want to learn. Okay. Great. Problem solved. Shall we meet up after lunch, then?”

“Are you not going to the tavern for your meal?” he inquired.

“No,” she said with a rueful smile. “Josephine wants me to meet with some noble. Apparently, the man is a hypochondriac, but he has large coffers, and he’s offered a sizeable donation if I examine him.”

Solas frowned. “Surely it is a waste of your time to meet with these frivolous nobles,” he said.

“Of course it is,” she grumbled. “But if it helps the Inquisition obtain more resources, well, I can hardly refuse now, can I? Besides,” she said with a smirk, “Josephine says he’s young and attractive. If that’s the case, I can force myself to share lunch with him. Okay, I have to run now, get cleaned up a bit before the meeting. I’ll see you after lunch outside the infirmary, okay?” she called out as she left, waving her hand over her shoulder.

If she’d turned around, she’d have seen the storm brewing in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like pulling in minor characters from the Dragon Age world. Lord Remi Vascal was known as the Black Fox, and he did train Duke Bastien de Ghislain. He was considered a hero by the common folk. His tale has some similarities with Robin Hood.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Mini rant time: One of the things that sometimes bothers me about the Solas-Lavellan romance is that Lavellan tends to be much younger than he is. I'm not bashing age differences in relationships, but there's this dynamic that just feels very skewed. Solas is so much older, and knowledgeable, and experienced when compared to a (young) Lavellan. It's less likely to be an equal relationship, and more one where Solas holds the power - because Lavellan is young, and impressionable, and eager to gain his favor/approval. That makes her, the head of one of the most powerful organizations in Thedas, open to manipulation by Solas - which, frankly, he isn't above. I like a Solavellan romance (clearly) but it's tough for me to swallow sometimes because I want relationships to be ones where both partners have equal footing. 
> 
> Okay, rant over.
> 
> * * *


	23. One and One Don't Always Add Up To Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas tries to unravel the mystery that is Samarra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency - (at least) weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I'm seriously in awe that so many of you have such nice things to say about my writing. Thank you to every one of you! You make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside :)
> 
> * * *

**POV SOLAS**

The only reason he was in the Chantry was to go through the books in the library.

That was all. Nothing more.

That was what he said to himself, anyway.

But he found himself lurking in the shadows, quietly observing Samarra and her partner even as his fingers idly thumbed through the tome in his hands.

If you’d asked him the title, he’d have been blank.

_How_ was it that a woman from the middle of nowhere, who claimed to have been brought up with limited social contact, was able to fit in so comfortably with a noble? And not just fit in, she acted as though she _belonged_ with his kind, as though she were high-born herself.

And yet this was the same woman who had just had a discussion with him, mentioning concepts that even he was clueless about. The same woman who had to explain to _him_ the meanings of some of the words she used. 

A woman that intelligent was both out of place among the common folk _and_ the nobles, yet she slotted into both words with disturbing ease.

It occurred to him that she occupied his thoughts on a frequent basis. He found himself lending an ear to every conversation she had with her companions in his vicinity. He had been very disappointed she had not joined their party in the Hinterlands, but even he could not deny the massive overhaul she had brought about in the Redcliffe Crossroads. Every change she’d implemented had been done with a deep sense of thoughtfulness and precision. It was uncharacteristic of what he’d come to expect from her kind, with their greedy and violent ways.

There were so many facets to her he didn’t know which was the dominant one. And that was _immensely_ frustrating.

He watched her smile widely, in a way she had never had with him, chuckling over a remark the other man had made. The nobleman wasn’t unattractive, Solas conceded. He saw her pick delicately at her food as though she’d done it hundreds of times. Even in ancient Arlathan her manners would have been considered flawless, and he’d been to enough formal dinners to know how picky the nobles of his time had been. But her posture were graceful and elegant, her elbows never met the table, and her little finger was curled ever so slightly as she raised the china cup to her lips.

The little things that indicated a woman with class.

It was possible the ambassador had coached it. After all, the Antivan was particular, and Samarra was a fast learner. But somehow Solas doubted it. 

The nobleman casually placed his hand over hers on the table, and Solas noted, a strange feeling sliding through his chest, that she made no effort to reject the contact. Instead, she continued to listen intently to what he was saying, laughing as he finished his story.

After what seemed to be hours - really, a deplorable waste of her time and talents, he thought to himself - their meal came to an end. She rose from her seat, and Solas watched as the nobleman scrambled to his feet, giving a little bow, and raising her hand to his lips. He found himself seething as the nobleman lingered over her hand, and more so when she allowed him to. With a curtsy, she waited for him to enter the ambassador’s office before letting out a sigh.

“Was it the meal or the company you object to?” he inquired softly, stepping out of the shadows towards her.

“Christ almighty!” she started, placing her hand over her heart. He mentally filed away the strange phrase with the intent to question her about it later. “Were you spying on me, Solas?” she demanded.

Spying? On her? How absurd.

“I came to avail myself of some books from the library,” he stated evenly. “That you were partaking your lunch here was something I was not aware of until I saw you.”

“So you saw me and just decided to hang around?” she said skeptically.

“I was going through the books. I had no wish to take them all back with me to my room. As you can see, they are very heavy.”

She seemed mollified, and he took the opportunity to glance at what she was wearing. Her dress was simple - so simple even the minor nobles in his time would have not been caught wearing such a garment - and of a deep cobalt blue. And yet, on her, it worked. Practical and functional, it seemed to embody who she was. Her hair, which was usually braided and pinned up, was instead gathered up at the nape of her neck, and wove down her back in a single, lush trail.

An emotion, long dormant, awoke in him. He refused to investigate it.

“You said you wanted to meet after your meal?” he queried.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Just have to meet Leliana first. You want to come along, or shall I just meet up with you?”

“I do not mind accompanying you,” he said. Gathering the tomes in his arms, he went with her to meet the spymaster, curious to know what she intended to talk about.

Sister Nightingale immediately walked towards them when she spotted Samarra headed her way. “You have some news, I assume?” the spymaster said, barely sparing him a glance. Which was fine by him. The less he caught the Nightingale’s attention, the better.

“Yes,” Samarra said, wrinkling her brow. “That man I had lunch with - Lord Kiltfort, I believe? - well, that’s not Lord Kiltfort. That’s an assassin sent to kill Helena… and me.”

“What did you see?” Leliana asked. Interesting. Even the Nightingale had come to accept Samarra’s visions without question. The level of trust the others had in her was… worrying. And she clearly trusted them enough to share her visions with them. But for some reason, she was wary of him.

Except when he’d given her the coat, his traitorous mind said. 

Pushing the matter from his mind, he focused on what Samarra was saying. “... the real Lord Kiltfort was attacked in his carriage on his way here. I think he’s recovering from his wounds. The impostor is using the time to infiltrate Haven. I don’t know who sent him, or why, but he’s planning the attack for tonight. Unless my meal was poisoned…” He watched her eyes widen as the possibility struck her. “Well, it can’t be the rapidly-acting kind, or else I’d already be dead.”

“Solas,” Leliana commanded, “please inspect the Oracle for any signs of poisoning. I will take care of the imposter in the meantime.”

“Pity,” she said as they walked to his hut. “He was cute. If he wasn’t a killer, I wouldn’t have minded getting frisky.”

The idea of that was infuriating. Was that the kind of woman she was, one who was willing to part her legs for every pretty face she came across?

“Is that something you do often?” he said, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Is _what_ something I do often?” her voice was glacial. “Bedding someone? Let me guess. You think that I’m some kind of whore, who sleeps with anyone and everyone? Even if I was, it’s really not any of your business. And for your information, I happen to have very high standards. I don’t just go to bed with anyone. He was charming, funny, personable and smart. Like I said, if he wasn’t out to kill me, I have no doubt I would have had a very pleasant night with him. I’m aware of my sexuality and I’m not afraid of seeking my own pleasure But my sex life is none of your business, and I’ll thank you to keep your tasteless and crass comments to yourself.”

“ _Ir abelas_ ,” he murmured. “I was unforgivably rude.”

“Yeah, you were,” she said as she entered his room.

Why did he feel as though she had just tested him? And that he had disappointed her somehow?

He really must be imagining things.

“Lie down,” he ordered, amused as she obeyed meekly, her demeanor so at odds with the icy fury she’d expressed only moments ago.. He placed the stack of book on his desk before moving towards her. “You will feel my magic pass through you when I examine you,” he explained. “If you have ingested any poison, it will be coursing through your blood. I will have to check from head to toe. It might feel strange to you.” So saying, he placed his hand on her feet and moved them upwards, feeling his magic flow into her.

Which was a big mistake. His magic curled up contentedly against hers, and he felt the itch, the urge, to let it mingle and mix with hers. Her magic always called out to him, but now that it was actually meeting hers… the temptation to let it join with hers was almost irresistible. Especially since he knew she would be none the wiser if he chose to do so.

Even if it would form a link with her, one he could exploit to his advantage...

But he respected her enough to not do her the injustice of underhandedly taking the choice away from her, especially since aura twining was only done in… very intimate settings. To do so without her knowledge or permission would be akin to rape.

He was a beast by name, but not always by nature.

The examination dragged out painfully long, each moment a new torture as he struggled against his baser impulses. Finally, he was done, and he snatched away his hand as though she were toxic. “I cannot detect any poison,” he said. “However this man means to dispose of you, it is not through the meal you shared.”

“You know,” she said, sitting up on his bed, “I just saw a vision of that man slitting my throat as I lay in bed. I just saw my own death. I should be more… I should be more affected, more shaken, but I just… I’m not even concerned that there’s someone out there who wants me dead.” She looked thoughtful, as though she were examining her emotions logically.

“Most likely the knowledge that your vision will not come to pass has affected your reaction,” he commented. “You do not fear, because you know it will not happen. As for someone wanting you dead… well, that should not surprise you. You can see into the future. There will be those who will want to abuse that power for themselves, and there will be others who fear it, and fear you. This is just the first of undoubtedly many who will make attempts on your life as well as the Herald’s.”

“There’s a cheery thought,” she said sarcastically.

“It is the way of things. Envy and desire have always existed, probably from the dawn of time.”

“True,” she agreed. “Oh well,” she shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll hit me later. Probably when I’m doing something mundane. I bet it strikes me out of the blue, and leaves me a shaking mess.”

“You do not seem the kind,” he stated.

“Who knows?” she waved her hand. “It may or may not happen. Are you ready to head out? To the infirmary, that is. I’d really like to treat those boys before the end of the day.”

“ _Ma nuvenin_ ,” he said.

“You keep saying that as often as you do, and you’ll have me believing that you really will do anything I wish,” she joked. 

He gave her a thin lipped smile. “That is highly unlikely,” he ground out.

“Oh, lighten up Solas! I was just joking.” she poked his arm with her finger.

“I will be sure to laugh when I have some free time,” he teased her, pleased to hear her chuckle.

“That’s more like it. What’s the point of hanging out if we can’t banter with each other?”

He taught her how to draw the infection from the tiny pustules in the small boys’ lungs, how to use the most precisely and controlled application of heat to incinerate the infection without affecting the healthy tissue, and how to immediately focus mana into the spaces left behind to alter the nature of the body’s healing process such that the repair left behind fresh new tissue, rather than rough scar tissue. The other healers observed the proceedings closely, concentrating keenly as she pointed out the symptoms and signs, and how to diagnose the disease. She warned the non-mages not to tackle the disease on their own, while demonstrating to enchanter Ellandra the treatment. The enchanter was skilled enough to draw the infection out and dispose of it, but she was unable to complete the healing process, having run out of mana. He watched, a measure of pride running through him, as Samarra stepped up and took over the process, easily completing the job.

He noticed her writing down the proceedings in a journal, and was overcome with the desire to read it. He wanted to know what she wrote in it - was it merely her observations of the patients she came across, and the treatments she administered, or did she record her personal thoughts in it?

He’d have to find a way to gain access to it.

As he walked back to his room, he thought over the assassin sent for her. While he had no doubt that the spymaster would handle it efficiently - and ruthlessly - it was better to have safeguards in place. He placed wards around their hut, and around their beds, taking extra care to make the ones around Samarra’s bed more delicate and subtle. Knowing her, she would probably take his well-meaning gesture as an insult to her capabilities, and he did not particularly feel like locking horns with her any more than they already did. Especially now, when she seemed to be warming up to him.

Giving her the coat had been, in his opinion, a strategic move. It had been relatively simple - when the Herald had come across the terrorized wolf pack in the Hinterlands, he’d taken the pelts and had the scouts deliver them to his agent at Haven, who had taken care of the rest of the details. When they returned, the coat was ready and waiting, and it was a stroke of luck he’d found a suitable amulet to go with it.

He’d wanted to see her reaction, to find out whether she knew who he really was, but she’d only been adorably flustered. It had been pleasant to see her thrown completely off-balance, just as it had to see her lost in enjoyment of the coat. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he knew how much effort she expended in keeping herself warm. Her aura was always taught with strain, as though it were tightly - and fearfully - leashed.

And then she had hugged him.

There had been that moment of _heat_ , of intensity, and he’d nearly pounced upon her at the sight of her draped in wolf fur, her scent luring him closer. He’d resisted then, had been aided by the unexpected arrival of the messenger. Now that he knew her thoughts on sexual relations… perhaps he could afford to be patient and work his way into her bed, if only to scratch the itch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SCRATCH THAT ITCH, SOLAS.
> 
> On another note, I just spent more than two hours writing 500 words of an elven conversation for a chapter, and now I'm having second thoughts about it. _Goddammit why_


	24. What The World Needs Is More Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (More) life on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: I try for weekly, but... it's more like three times a week, I guess. Heh. But I'm still sticking to weekly.
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *

Samarra would have thought that travelling by horse would have been a smidgen easier than travelling by foot.

She was wrong.

Her butt and lower back ached, and it had only been half a day into their five-day trip to Val Royeaux. Despite her proficiency atop a horse, she was sore, and not in a pleasant way at all. Once again, that she knew how to ride had surprised Solas, but the others were now used to her ‘quirks’ and for the most part ignored any out-of-character behavior, for which she was grateful. It was hard enough constantly being on guard around him.

Her mount was gorgeous. Dennet had insisted that his horses chose their riders, not the other way round, and so they had had to present themselves to each of his horses, one at a time, to see which of the mounts took a shine to them. She’d caught the attention of a stunning mare, a jet black Ferelden Forder with a gleaming coat and mane, a proud, imposing figure. The moment Samarra spied her, and vice versa, she knew. The Forder let out a little snort of air, and took a step towards her, lowering her head to sniff at Samarra, disdainfully at first, but soon her interest was piqued and she nuzzled at her.

She’d laughed, joyful. It had been many years since she’d ridden, and she’d missed it terribly. Samarra petted her neck, crooning soft words into her ear, getting acquainted with her. Ten minutes later, the mare refused to pay anyone else any attention, only barely tolerating the horsemaster. Dennet had been shocked, and uneasy - he’d meant Isaline for Cullen, as Commander of the Inquisition forces, but it soon became clear to him - and everyone else - that Isaline had no intention of going along with Dennet’s plans. A fact for which Samarra was grateful for; Isaline was intelligent, and seemed to intuit her orders before Samarra could even command her.

Cassandra had ended up with a beautiful chestnut bay Amaranthine Charger mare called Bella, while Varric was paired with a dapple grey Shetland pony - no, a Rialto pony, she corrected herself - called Chester. The horse was very much like the dwarf, all pleasant and sociable, and mixed happily with the other horses with no pretense or hauteur. Helena had fallen in love with Delfino, a buckskin Barded Charger stallion. Solas’ horse was a red dun Green Dales Feral, a magnificent stallion, with the rather pretentious name Whitmore. The red dun was every bit as proud as her Forder, and she found it amusing - and ironic - that the two horses had butted heads. Finally, with an extraordinary amount of coaxing on her part, as well as Solas’ and Dennet’s, they had gotten the two to tolerate each other in an uneasy truce. 

It had also amused her that he’d ended up with a Green Dales. And that it had “feral” as part of the breed name. She’d chuckled quietly to herself, giving Solas an innocent look when he’d turned towards her, giving her a sharp look.

When they stopped for lunch, she dismounted with a groan, gratefully stretching out every muscle she could. Tying Isaline next to Chester - and as far away from Whitmore as was possible - she paced around as she ate, trying to relieve some of the tension in her muscles.

_What I need is a glorious massage. From head to toe. But I’d settle for a back massage._

Healing magic had only taken the edge off of the pain, but she could still feel the stiffness. _Maybe I can beg Helena for one. I don’t think Cassandra would volunteer._ She chuckled quietly to herself at the idea. 

Two days into their journey she’d morphed into a complete grump, the soreness from being on a mount at least twelve hours a day more than she could bear. She was short with the others attempts to converse with her, all her efforts going towards keeping herself on Isaline. Even the horse had sensed her change in demeanor, and moved as smoothly as she was able, trying to avoid unnecessarily jolting its rider. When they made camp that night, she found a quiet spot away from the others and tried to focus on the exercises the Black Fox had taught her in the Fade as a measure to loosen up her stiff muscles. Instead of them helping, she ended up spraining her trapezius muscle. She nearly cried out as she tried to move her shoulder, cursing softly under her breath instead.

“It is usually ill-advised to perform those exercises when your muscles are already under strain.” Solas’ quiet voice reached her ears. She refused to turn to face him, instead trying to massage her right shoulder with her left hand. She felt her hand being brushed away, and long fingers gently massage her aching shoulder. Surprised and startled, she began turning her head towards him, only to be stopped by the pressure he applied to the sides of her neck. “Keep still,” he commanded, the authority in the tone causing some forbidden thing to unfurl in her belly. He gently kneaded and worked the muscles in her shoulders and neck, and there was nothing she could do to hold back the relieved moan she gave as his hands moved down her back.

And what hands they were. Though she could not see them, she could feel the strength in them, almost as if his very bones and muscles were made from silverite. She could feel the roughness of his calloused fingertips through her cotton tunic, a sign that he had wielded and used a staff for many, many years. She hissed in grateful pleasure as his hands rubbed away the tension in her lower back, trying to ignore the way his fingers curled around and dug into her hips.

She nearly protested when he finally drew his hands away, but could not deny the relief she felt. He’d used his magic to heal the sprained muscle, so when she stood, it was without pain or stiffness.

“ _Ma serannas_ ,” she said gratefully. “ _Nualas’ma melava_.” 

“ _Ar eolasas. Ane tune, na’rya sonun’ea._ ” 

She huffed. “ _Ame tel’tune, souveras_.” 

“ _Silan’na sasha_.” he said, a twinkle in his eyes.

She rolled her eyes. “ _Na lasa’ma tundros. Elasas’ma vegara’ra samelava._ ” 

“ _Te’telsila’na. Banal’ra._ ” 

“ _Tath. Ar druan emaronun. Dirth ma nuvenas dir’soundil_.” 

“ _San. Vindirthast’ma_.” 

She walked back to camp, plonking herself down heavily between Varric and Helena, the latter of whom immediately nudged her. “The two of you are getting awfully close, it appears,” the brunette teased.

“Who, me and Solas? I mean, we’re friends, sure, but that’s about it.” Samarra stated.

“Didn’t seem that way from where I was sitting, Crimson,” Varric winked at her.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeesh. Look, I’ve been ridiculously sore from riding all day, and I sprained a muscle while trying to stretch. He offered to help out, that’s all.”

“Oh, sure, and I always moan in pleasure when someone’s healing me,” Helena smirked at her.

She blushed, beet red. “I was not moaning!”

“Gotta agree with Glowbug on this one. You were pretty loud.” Varric chortled in glee.

“Nooooooooooo,” she buried her face in her hands. “He was just being nice!”

“Hey, Chuckles, if you’re being nice, I’d be happy to get a foot rub,” Varric called out to Solas. She smacked his arm. “Stop it!” she hissed.

“I could do with a massage myself,” Helena added, grinning wickedly at Samarra.

The elf was all grace and poise as he sat opposite Samarra, while she was sure she could be mistaken for a ripe tomato. _So much so for all the ‘remain calm and unruffled at all times’ lessons Leliana’s been throwing at me_ , she thought. 

“I must decline your request, Master Tethras. I do not believe I have the least desire whatsoever to touch your feet. As for the Herald, I would be happy to help with any pain you may be experiencing.” he answered elegantly.

“I’ll take whatever Samarra was having then,” Helena said with a Chesire-cat-like grin.

She threw her head back and groaned. “Okay, fine, you’ve all had your fun, now can we drop it and move on?”

“You were not quite so far away from camp as to be out of earshot,” one corner of Solas’ lips was twisted upwards in a wicked smirk. “It was inevitable that someone would overhear your, shall we say, sighs of relief?”

“Not you too!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. “That’s it. The lot of you suck. I’m going to go sit with Cassandra.” 

The next day, she was back to her usual chirpy self, the massage and a good night’s rest having done her a world of good. She got Varric to teach her a few tawdry tavern songs, laughing as Helena joined in, even as Cassandra and Solas looked on disapprovingly. The morning passed away mostly without event - she wasn’t counting the encounter with bandits as an event, seeing as how they had laid their weapons down and surrendered after the briefest of fights, if it could even be called that, and had been recruited into the Inquisition instead.

“Have you heard of the Silly Story game?” Samarra piped up.

“No, but it sounds promising,” Varric replied. “Do I need to have my quill out for it?”

“Nah,” she said. “Just needs some focus. So, it’s really simple - the goal is to spin a story. One at a time, everyone contributes a short paragraph to the story. You have to make it as ridiculous as possible, but your contribution has to fit in smoothly with the one of the person before you, you can’t just completely change subjects. Okay?”

“I think I got it,” Varric nodded. “Seeker, Chuckles, Glowbug - are you in?”

“I will sit out,” Cassandra said. “I am not good at making stories up.”

“I’m so in!” Helena cheeped.

“It sounds interesting.” Solas said, his ears perking up slightly.

“Alright! Okay, I’ll go first, just to give you an idea. That okay?” The others nodded. “There was once a girl who lived by the edge of a forest. One day, as she was out fetching water, a giant bird swooped down and caught her in its claws. It flew all day and all night, and finally dropped her into a tower. When the girl came to, she found herself surrounded by three other girls, who were dressed in lovely gowns but had banana peels for slippers. She wrinkled her nose, because the peels were rotting and the smell wasn’t very pleasant. The other girls asked her who she was, and she replied… “

“ ‘I am Gertrude’, the girl said.” Varric picked up the story. “A bird captured me and brought me here. The other girls were princesses, waiting for someone to rescue them. They laughed at Gertrude, and made fun of her torn pants and moldy scarf. One day, a knight riding a fine steed rode up to the tower. He saw Gertrude on top of the tower, and fell in love with her instantly. He called out…”

“ ‘Oh, my beautiful dracolisk,’ he said. ‘My kidneys are yours. Take pity on this poor knight and bestow upon me your liver.’” Helena could barely control her laughter. “Gertrude replied, ‘if you can free me from this horrid tower, ser, my liver and all else will be yours.’ Emboldened by her promise, he broke open the door to the tower, only to find…”

“The three princesses, who had been waiting for him with frying pans in their hands. ‘How dare you ignore us!’ they screeched, and set upon him with the kitchen implements. They beat him till he was black and blue, and beat him some more, till his head flew clean off of his shoulders. They threw his head out of the window, and hid the body of _ser_ knight behind the curtains. When Gertrude came down to investigate the noise…” Solas ended his turn with a chuckle.

Samarra continued, “she found a dozen mice dancing by the curtains. When she threw them open, she saw poor ser knight’s body. She cried and cried until her tears had filled the moat outside. The mice took pity on her and told her to bring them the first thing she found, and they would restore ser knight to life. She immediately went to the kitchen, and her eyes landed on a head of cabbage. Bringing it back to the mice, they…”

“Nibbled at it to test its freshness, then, satisfied, rolled the cabbage onto the shoulders of _ser_ knight.” Varric was grinning from ear to ear. “ ‘Pim-diddly-pom-pom!’ the mice chanted, and _ser_ knight stood up. ‘Mmmmmppppffffhhhh’ ser knight said, for Gertrude had forgotten to give him a mouth. He walked around, knocking everything in his path, before heading out the balcony. Before Gertrude could stop him, _ser_ knight toppled over the railing into the moat, where…”

“Where a varghest was sleeping,” Helena continued. “Angered by the sudden arrival of _ser_ knight, it took a bite out of him, gaining a mouthful of cabbage in return. The cabbage was poison to the varghest, and it clutched its chest and staggered out of the water, moaning pitifully as it did so. ‘My life has been ended!’ it cried out. ‘I am dead!’ it exclaimed, then promptly toppled over onto the ground. Meanwhile, _ser_ knight… “

“Swam out of the water, missing the top half of his cabbage head, and stumbled his way over to the varghest. Just then, a strange man wearing a tall hat walked into view. In his hands was _ser_ knights actual head. When he spotted the cabbage-headed _ser_ knight, he rushed over and punched the cabbage head so hard it flew into the window of the tower, killing Gertrude. He then placed _ser_ knight’s head on his neck, and _ser_ knight was restored. ‘Thank you very much’ _ser_ knight said to the stranger, and shook his hand. _Ser_ knight decided that the stranger was a less trouble than the girls in the tower, and walked away with him into the sunset.” Solas ended the story, chuckling as he did so.

They all had a good laugh over the story, Cassandra laughing the hardest of them all. “Poor Gertrude,” Samarra chuckled, “killed by a cabbage. What a way to go.”

“I feel bad for _ser_ knight myself,” Varric said.

The game kept them cheerfully occupied for the rest of the journey, with Varric eventually taking over as sole storyteller. Samarra had to admit the dwarf was really talented at creating stories. _He really is Thedas’ equivalent of Shakespeare. I bet he goes through more ink and paper than Josephine. When did he have the time to write his books during Inquisition, anyway? If they were travelling so often, it’s kind of strange that he found the time to write the book for Cassandra._

“Hey Varric?” she asked. “Do you know if they’ll have your books in Val Royeaux?”

“I’m not sure,” he replied. “My publisher tells me the Orlesians aren’t the biggest fans of my books. Maybe? Why? The ones I’m getting for you not enough?”

“Just thought I’d pick up one or two to while away the time. Haven’s library is… well, suffice to say it lacks anything interesting to read.”

“I hear you,” the dwarf agreed. “You’ll find a bookshop or two in Val Royeaux. Hope you brought some coin with you.”

Had she ever. She’d saved every piece of gold she’d been given for the trip, intending to spend it on books, and maybe a few clothes. And gifts, of course. She wanted to get something for the advisors, and the rest of the healers, and her companions…. She sighed. _I just hope I have enough. Or that prices in Val Royeaux aren’t like what they were in the game._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Ma serannas. Nualas’ma melava- Thank you. I was aching/hurting for some time 
> 
> Ar eolasas. Ane tune, na’rya sonun’ea - I know. You are delicate/soft, you need to be careful
> 
> Ame tel’tune, souveras - I’m not soft, I’m tired
> 
> Silan’na sasha - Only you think that 
> 
> Na lasa’ma tundros. Elasas’ma vegara’ra samelava - You gave/did me a kindness. Allow me to return it sometime
> 
> Te’telsila’na. Banal’ra - You don’t worry. It was nothing
> 
> Tath. Ar druan emaronun. Dirth ma nuvenas dir’soundil - Still/even so. I believe in fairness. Tell me if you wish for a massage
> 
> San. Vindirthast’ma. - Okay. (That is) agreeable to me
> 
> * * *
> 
> This story just got all Inception. A story within a story? Varric would be proud.
> 
>  _Solas Greatly Disapproves_ of the elven here. I'm sure I butchered it. Sorry, but I tried :(
> 
> * * *


	25. When You Change Things, Things Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald reaches Val Royeaux.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: I give up, you guys. I just have no idea anymore. Sorry!
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *

They spent the night before the meeting with the Chantry sisters at an inn, which Samarra was grateful for, because it meant she could finally bathe. Even though she made it a point to wipe herself down with a wet towel at the start and end of each day, there was nothing like a proper bath.

The innkeeper was Flissa’s sister’s husband, and they welcomed the Inquisition warmly. Samarra had been impressed with how quaint and clean and tidy everything was. _Maybe it’s because it’s in Val Royeaux? I mean, not every tavern can be like the Hanged Man. Or the Singing Maiden. Actually, the Maiden is quite nice.Well, technically, I mean, this is an inn and not a tavern, so it’s not like they’re exactly the same. Or are they? I wonder what the difference between a tavern and an inn is?_

She was relaxing in the tub, her eyes closed, when the vision came to her. She found herself standing next to Helena as the Chantry Mother spewed vitriol at them before calling the templars forward. She saw the woman getting punched in the head, and heard the dialogue between the Lord Seeker, Helena and Cassandra.

Then the Lord Seeker - or, more accurately, his imposter - looked at her, and the scene shifted. He ordered his men to attack, and the five of them were forced to defend themselves against the templar forces. She saw Solas being hit by a holy smite, saw him grip his staff tightly to remain upright. She felt the force of it herself, the utter horrifying unpleasantness of feeling her soul, her very being, be ripped out of her mercilessly. 

She shuddered in the bathtub, causing water to splash over the edges.

She saw herself crumble to the ground, the holy smite having overwhelmed her. Saw herself being dragged away by two templars, unnoticed by the others, who were too busy trying to defend themselves. She was bound, gagged and blindfolded, and when she was securely trussed up, she could hear the Lord Seeker give the command to cease fighting, and they left Val Royeaux soon after… with her as prisoner.

She opened her eyes as the vision dissolved away. _So, apparently the Lord Seeker has heard of me. I wonder how. Maybe it’s because Cullen contacted the templars? That must be it. I didn’t see Ser Barris in the vision, maybe he quit the order. I certainly hope so. I need to stay away from the square tomorrow, then. It’s clear the envy demon is fascinated by me, and wants me. We can’t have that now, can we? I don’t want to see his ugly face, thankyouverymuch. I’ll just stay behind in the room, then. Alone. It’s the safest option._

She climbed out of the tub, dried herself, and pulled on a clean set of clothes before joining the others downstairs for dinner. Helena waved her over to their table, and she slid herself next to the Seeker. They chatted away as they waited for their meal to arrive, and once the innkeeper’s wife had slid steaming bowls of stew, and some fresh baked bread - and cheese, Samarra noted with glee - onto the table, she decided to broach the subject.

“I had a vision,” she said, her mouth filled with bread and cheese.

“What?” Cassandra immediately demanded.

“I can’t tell you,” Samarra sighed, shaking her head as the Seeker began to object. “No, Cassandra, leave it alone. I really can’t tell you.”

“This vision involves the Seeker, then?” Solas inquired.

“Maybe, maybe not, _I can’t say_.” She huffed. “What matters is this - when you go to talk to the Chantry tomorrow, I cannot accompany you.”

Helena protested. “But I could use your support!”

She patted Helena’s hand. “I know. But trust me when I say it’s better that you face them alone. Besides, you won’t be alone. You’ll have the others with you.”

“Do we need to be wary of any danger?” Solas asked, his eyes narrowed.

She ate several spoonfuls of the flavorful stew before answering, mulling over the scenario. _There’s really no danger in the Val Royeaux confrontation scene, just a whole heap of unpleasantness. Still, can’t hurt for them to be wary._

“I haven’t seen any fighting, if that’s what you’re asking. But I think it is still better that all of you remain on guard. The Chantry will not welcome you warmly. You should expect that, and use it to your advantage. Remain clear-headed, be firm, confident and direct in what you say, and you can change more than a few minds.” she told Helena.

“Also, there is a merchant by the name Belle you should approach. She will be willing to help the Inquisition, you should recruit her. You will receive a strange kind of message when you are in the square. Do not ignore it, and follow the directions it gives you.”

“Anything else?” Helena asked, as she took in the information Samarra gave her. “Yes,” Samarra grinned cheekily. “I want to go shopping!”

Helena and Varric laughed, while Cassandra gave a disgusted ugh. “What are you looking to buy?” Helena asked.

“Books, clothes, gifts,” she ticked them off on her fingers.

“You sure you got enough coin for that, Crimson?” Varric chuckled.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve saved up everything Josephine’s been giving me. I’ve… never really dealt with coin or merchants before. I could use your help.” Her voice was glum and wistful.

“I’d be happy to wander the bookstores with you,” the dwarf offered. “Gives me a chance to see how my books are actually doing in Orlais. My publisher keeps telling me the Orlesians don’t appreciate my work, but I refuse to believe it.”

“I can take you clothes shopping,” Helena squealed. “I’ve wanted to pick up a few things myself!”

Cassandra only huffed and rolled her eyes.

“If it is not unagreeable to yourself and Master Tethras, I would like to accompany you to the bookstores,” Solas smoothly said. “I would like to peruse the tomes available in the city.”

“Sure, the more the merrier,” she said.

After dinner, they retired for the night, and Samarra found herself slipping easily into the Fade. Before her stood the Black Fox, giving her a disapproving look.

“What’d I do?” she asked.

“Have I not told you how important it is for a rogue to remain calm and collected at all times? And what do you go and do? Lose your composure like a blushing virgin! I expected better from you!” he chided.

“It’s harder than it sounds, okay?” she defended herself.

“But you are not even trying!” he scolded.

“I… okay, fine, I see your point,” she conceded. “How do I even start?”

Lord Vascal, or his ghost, sighed. “Distance yourself,” he said. “Imagine a barrier between you and the person you are conversing with. Picture yourself inside this barrier. You are in control, you can select what to react to - if at all.”

“But won’t that make me like Vivienne?” she challenged. “I mean, I know you trained Duke Bastien and all, but damn, I do not want to become Madame de Fer!”

“Pah!” he dismissed her words. “Lady Vivienne is a grandstanding posturer. If she were not a mage, she would have been thoroughly dismissed by the Court. No, my dear, if you must aim for a standard, perhaps you should gaze in the direction of that elven apostate. Perhaps not the kind of glances you’ve been giving him,” he grinned cheekily, “but you must admire the man’s composure.”

Samarra sulked. “I don’t give him any kind of glances.”

“You should learn not just to play the Game, my dear, but also how to _not_ play the Game. Size up your opponent - be gentle with your friends, vicious with your foes. Remember that sometimes it is the things that are not said that can do the most damage.”

“Great, I get to become a scheming, conniving bitch. Hooray for me!” she mocked.

“There is no place for this kind of self-pity,” his voice slashed her. “You cannot afford to be stubborn. Yes, you will have to learn the intricate ways of intrigue. You will have to learn to scheme, and strategize, and plan. You will have to learn tactics, and how to plot. Because you cannot afford to not know. Or would you rather we stop this training, and you can remain the way you are?”

She bowed her head. “I’m sorry. I want to learn.”

“Good,” he was still angry with her. “Do not make the mistake of thinking that people’s motivations can be easily understood. Do not become complacent because of your ability to see into the future. You might have a knowledge of future events, but manipulating them requires a the most delicate of touches. For that end, it is vital that you understand and familiarize yourself with intrigue. Wield it well, and it will serve you like nothing else can.”

“I will,” she said meekly.

He told her tales of the Great Game, of how Lord Humphrey was disowned on account of a single glove of his discovered at the wrong location. Though the man had strenuously protested that he’d lost that pair years ago, the rumors and whispers that had been planted ages ago had taken root, and he was forced to retire to the country, disgraced. A decade later, his son had the last laugh, when he manipulated Baron Gunther’s daughter and only child into running away with him on the day of her wedding to another man. Baron Gunther was slain in a duel by the scorned fiance, and his wealth passed down to his only child.

“And Lord Humphrey’s son had her killed as soon as she inherited her father’s wealth,” Lord Vascal wrapped up the story, “leaving him with the wealth and holdings of the very man who had disgraced his father.”

Samarra winced. “Seems a bit excessive, having her killed.”

“There was another woman who had caught the young lord’s heart, and he wanted to be free to marry her.” the Black Fox explained.

“It just seems kind of sad, you know?” she sighed. 

She continued learning, but she found herself feeling uncomfortable at the prospect of deceiving and manipulating others. Her tutor noticed it, and called a halt to their training.

“I know you’re uncomfortable with the idea of the Game,” he said. “But picture it this way. Assuming Vivienne does not become Divine, you know what she will do. She will use her manipulations to build a new Circle. If you wish to stop her, do you think you can just ask her not to? Or kill her? No, you’ll need to employ the same tactics she uses to gain power. Use her tricks to your advantage. Sway them to your side before they can go to hers.”

“I know. I know what I need to do, and I’ll do it, but it doesn’t mean I’ll have to like doing it.” she stated.

“That is… a compromise. We’re done for tonight. You have matters to attend - perhaps you should wake up now.”

When she woke up, she was strangely restless and unsettled. She watched as the others prepared for their meeting, shaking her head yes when she was asked if she was sure she wanted to stay behind. “I need to,” she explained. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

They departed, and once again, like in the Hinterlands, she felt alone. In an effort to combat it, she volunteered her help to the innkeeper’s wife, and soon was happily whiling away her time in the kitchen as she learned how to bake bread and cook. The innkeeper’s wife, Marsha, was very much like her sister Flissa, all cheerful and friendly, and soon the woman was happily chatting away to Samarra, telling her the little bits and pieces of gossip she’d heard. Samarra filed away what she thought would be interesting to Leliana, but for the most part was content to let the older woman talk.

She was in her room reading when the door flung open and Cassandra stomped in. “You!” she growled angrily. “You knew that the Lord Seeker would behave that way! And you didn’t say anything!”

She remained calm. “What would I have said, Cassandra? And even if I had, would you have listened to me? Would you have believed me if I told you that the Lord Seeker would break away from the Chantry, would announce his full intention to hunt down and kill mages?”

It was almost funny to see the air go out of the Seeker. “No,” Cassandra admitted. “I would not have believed you.”

“It would have gone much worse had I been there,” Samarra consoled her, giving a nod to Helena as the brunette walked in. “Had I been there, he would have ordered the templars to attack us.”

“He would not have done that! Not in the middle of so many civilians!” Cassandra protested.

“I don’t know, Cass, the man seemed quite deranged,” Helena commented. “If Samarra says her vision showed her that, I’m inclined to believe it.” She sat down next to Samarra. “What a mess,” she sighed. “The Chantry formally denounced us, the Lord Seeker won’t talk to us, and I spent most of the day tracking down clues to this ‘Red Jenny’ person. And, apparently, I’ve been invited to a soiree thrown by Madame de Fer.”

“What did the clues give you?” Samarra asked..

Helena quirked a brow. “That’s what interests you most? You’re an odd one. I have the clues here. I haven’t had a chance to go through them properly.” The Herald handed her the clues, and the three women poured over them.

_Key lifted from drunk swearing about Herald. Don’t know what door. I’m out, my debt is paid._ Samarra read the note, pulling out the key that was hidden in it. “Well, we have a way to get into somewhere.” she shrugged.

‘ _... and we are to obey well. We meet at ten bells to discuss how best to serve the new way.’_ “Man, the person who wrote this note sounds like a pompous ass,” Helena declared. “There’s something else included, too.” _Herald go at time. Praise Adrast._ “I think they mean Andraste. In any case, we have a time.”

‘ _Thank you friends for helping good Lady Keris. Saw those who asked about Herald enter third passage. Could not stay to see them leave,_ ’ Samarra read the third note aloud. “Okay, so we’re apparently being watched and followed,” Samarra said with a frown. “But by whom? And why? Are they friends, or foes?”

“I thought you might have a clearer picture,” Helena admitted.

“I haven’t had any vision about that. But look here - we’re supposed to meet this mysterious person at Lord Jacque-Martin’s house. Who is this man, and why does he have an interest in the Inquisition?” Samarra wondered.

“Probably some minor lord. Look at the location of his house - it’s on the outskirts of Val Royeaux. He’s probably some merchant who was rich enough to buy himself a minor title.” Helena answered.

“We will have to talk to this Jacque-Martin,” Cassandra added. “It sounds as though he might be a threat to the Inquisition.”

“Right,” Samarra stated. _Which means that I’ll have to keep Sera from killing him. Which is most definitely not going to make her happy. Which means her first impression of me isn’t going to be stellar. Wonderful. Still, I’ve always wondered what the guy was up to. And what was up with the breeches? Okay, that does it. I’m too curious. I gotta find out._ “We have a key - looks like it might be for a side gate? We’re to be there at three bells. How much time do we have?”

“It is just past nine bells,” Cassandra said. “We have about six hours. It will take us an hour to reach this place.”

“That’ll work,” Helena declared. “We can get a couple of scouts to scan the area. The more information we have about the lay of the land, the better.” She turned to Samarra. “I assume you would like to join in?” she asked with a knowing smile.

“Definitely,” Samarra grinned. _I can’t wait to meet Sera! I wonder how she’ll react to me. Probably not well, since I’m a mage and all. And I bet I’ll spook her with the visions. But who cares! Finally, someone I can tease Solas with! ‘Elven glory’ indeed!!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLOOOO, VAL ROYEAUX! It's great to be here!
> 
> (kinda)


	26. Sera Was Never An Agreeable Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SERA. Omg, yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Whenever I write a chapter, I guess?
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

Luna was at its fullest in the night sky when they finally reached Lord Jacque-Martin’s mansion. Tethering their horses in a nearby hidden clearing that had been marked by their scouts, the group made their way over to the walls, inching their way along its length till they finally reached a small, rusty gate that lead to a secluded courtyard. 

“This must be what the key opens,” Helena whispered, and Samarra nodded. The brunette slid the key into the opening, and slowly turned it. Cassandra took the lead, pushing the gate open slowly. Samarra winced at the grating squeak that the unoiled hinges made, and warily kept an eye out for any attackers. They slipped into the courtyard, looking around. The place was secluded, and they wandered further in. Cassandra grumbled quietly about following a worthless lead. They weren’t disappointed, because soon they caught sight of some armed men.

“Varric and I will flank them and try to take them out silently - does that sound like a plan?” Samarra stated. The others agreed. 

It would have been a good plan too, had Helena not stepped on a stray branch. The sound of the dry twig snapping echoed in the silence of the night, and instantly attracted attention to them.

“The Inquisition’s Herald! Get them!” one of the armed men angrily shouted.

“Well, they know who I work for at least,” Helena remarked wryly.

Helena and Cassandra immediately charged at them, protected by the barrier thrown up by Solas. She quickly cast one over herself, the elven mage, and Varric, then ducked behind a column. Taking careful aim, she struck two of the men down, keeping an eye on the others. Varric’s ability with Bianca was extremely impressive - it was almost as if the two of them formed a single unit. Soon, the courtyard was clear. Samarra gathered up her arrows, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She hated having to pull them out from the bodies, but she didn’t have an infinite supply of them, and so she resigned herself to blood-covered arrows. Replacing them in her quiver, she rejoined the others, and they made their way deeper into the mansion.

“Clearly, this is a disused part of the mansion,” Cassandra commented.

“Or the servant’s quarters,” Varric chimed in.

Helena pushed open a door. Immediately, Samarra threw a barrier over her - and just in time. As the door swung open, a fireball hit the Herald - or would have hit her, had it not been for the barrier. A man wearing a brass mask - who she assumed was Lord Jacque-Martin - fired three more at them, before ceasing abruptly.

_Time for his posturing, then. Heads up, Sera!_

He made his pompous speech, bewildering all of them. Even though Samarra knew what he was going to say, it still baffled her. Not just because she legitimately had no idea what the man was blathering about, but also because it boggled her mind to know that there someone could suffer from self-important delusions to this level.

“My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere!” the man exclaimed, and she heard Varric valiantly try - and fail - to stifle a chuckle.

A sudden cry of pain and the loud _thwack!_ of a body hitting the ground caught their attention. They turned to find a young woman with blond hair chopped irregularly and unevenly, wearing a blood red tunic and yellow plaidweave leggings. 

_Sera!!_ Samarra cheered. _Wow, okay, Bioware was kind of harsh on her. They made her look… kind of flat and plain. She’s so obviously not._ The blond elf had lovely, smooth skin, the kind that would have been labelled as an “english rose’ complexion back on Earth. Her eyebrows were gently arched, framing chocolate brown eyes that were fiery and lively all at once. Her nose was just the slightest bit too wide for her face, but it had the prettiest tilt at the tip. Her lips were full, plump and luscious, and Samarra found herself envying them.

And she most certainly did not have the stomach-boob syndrome. At all.

But more than her looks, it was the air around her - Sera had a _joie de vivre_ , a certain enthusiasm around her. It was the vibrancy of her youth, a reminder that _yes, I’m alive, you’re alive, we’re alive, and isn’t it just glorious?_

“Just say what!” she heard Sera say, and sprung to action. She quickly drew the glyph for a sleeping spell, and flung it at the man. It hit him, and he staggered for a few moments before hitting the ground with a thud.

“What’d you do that for?” Sera exclaimed. “Never mind. Guess you’ll have a plan for him. Rich tits always try for more than they deserve. Blah, blah, blah, obey me! Should’ve stuck an arrow in his face. He seemed like a squishy one.”

Samarra stepped forward to get a better look at Sera, even as her companions tried to process what was going on.

“So, you followed the notes well enough. Glad to see you’re… well, you’re kind of plain, really.” Sera’s face scrunched up in disappointment. “All that talk, and you’re just… a person. I mean, it’s all good, innit? The important thing is, you glow. You’re the herald thingy?”

“Actually,” Samarra said, laughing, “I’m not. She is,” she continued, pointing to Helena. “And yeah, she glows.”

“Sure, why not, I glow,” Helena grumbled. “What’s going on?”

“No idea,” Sera cheerfully proclaimed. “I don’t know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him. Guess you’ll find out soon enough.”

“Your people?” Cassandra asked. “Elves?”

Sera chortled. “No, _people_ people. Name’s Sera. This is cover. Get around it. For the reinforcements! Don’t worry. Someone tipped me their equipment shed.” Her eyes danced merrily in the light of the braziers. “They’ve got no breeches!”

Said reinforcements rushed in seconds later, swords drawn… and no breeches. Samarra was laughing so hard at the sight that she was nearly useless in the fight, the sight of the men in their armor and underwear immensely amusing. Cassandra didn’t see much humor in it, instead chiding Sera. “Why didn’t you take their weapons?” the Seeker grunted as she slashed through another mercenary.

“Because… no breeches!” Sera chortled as she pinned one of the men to a wooden crate.

They regrouped near the sleeping man once they’d dealt with his mercenaries. Sera quickly and expertly trussed him up with a length of rope she found, then slapped him in the face. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” she said cheerfully.

The man opened his eyes groggily. Helena dropped to her haunches next to him. “Now then,” she said, in a menacing tone Samarra had never heard before, “You’re going to tell me what you know.”

“Don’t think your abilities will help you,” Varric called out. “We’ve got a Seeker with us. And two mages.”

The man glared balefully at them. “Do you know who I am?” he exclaimed pompously. “I am Lord Jacque-Martin! You are all trespassing!”

“And you’ve been plotting against the Herald and the Inquisition,” Samarra said. “Are we just going to stand around and state the obvious? Because it’s getting late, and I really just want to go to bed soon.”

“I will tell you nothing!” he announced haughtily, only to change his mind as Cassandra drew her sword. “Put it away, put it away,” he pleaded. “I will talk. I was approached by a man by the name of Drefus. He claimed that his mistress was in jeopardy from the Herald and her Inquisition. He said that if I found a way to have the Herald killed while she was in Val Royeaux, that I would be rewarded with an exclusive contract to supply the household of Grand Duke Gaspard.”

“Grand Duke Gaspard?” Cassandra gasped. “He cannot be involved!”

“He’s probably not,” Helena dismissed. “Probably someone brandishing his name around.”

“That’s all I know, I swear it,” he pleaded. “Let me go.”

“We’ve got all we can from him,” Helena said. “No point in killing the poor sod.” They left him trussed up, and began to walk away.

“Fools!” Jacque-Martin exclaimed from behind them. “You will never leave this compound alive! You will face the fury of Jacque-Martin!”

Sera rolled her eyes. “Say what, then.” she said.

“What is the-” The merchant had barely spoken when Sera shot an arrow right through his face. She then walked over casually and pulled it out. “What?” she defended against their taken-aback faces. “You heard me, I said what.” She wiped the arrow clean on the dead man’s clothes. “Told you he’d be a squishy one.”

They all walked to the rusty old side gate. “So, Herald of Andraste,” Sera began. “You’re a strange one. I’d like to join.”

“How about we get to know each other first? You know, names and such?” Helena hesitantly said.

_Okay, I better jump in so that everyone can understand_. “It’s like this. Sera belongs to an organization called Red Jenny. Except Red Jenny isn’t just one person, they’re a group of people. There’s usually a single Red Jenny in a city, but they do work together. They’re a group that’s devoted to righting the wrongs that have been done to the common folk, usually by the nobles.”

“Are you some kind of weird mind-reader or something?” Sera glared suspiciously at her.

_And there we go. Ugh, it’s going to take a crapton of work to get her to like me. Come on, Sera, don’t freak out. Who else are you going to play pranks with? I mean, when the Herald isn’t around?_ “Not really a mind reader, not. I’m just a healer in the Inquisition who… kind of gets visions of the future?”

“You’re one of those strange freaks? You saw all this? Saw me?” Sera took a cautious step away from her. 

Samarra sighed. _Ouch, Sera. That really hurt. You’ve got to stop saying those things, okay?_ “I’m a mage, yes, and I can see some things in the future, but I’m not a freak. And yes, I saw you. That’s why I asked them to come.”

“It’s true,” Helena agreed. “I’d never have looked for the clues if Samarra hadn’t told me about it. And she insisted we come here. She’s with the Inquisition, you don’t have to be scared of her.”

“Maybe… we’ll see. You keep your distance, yeah?” Sera addressed her. “So, how about it? Can I join?”

Cassandra and Helena exchanged looks. “The Inquisition has spies already. Can you add to the professionals?”

Sera huffed impatiently. “Here’s how it is. You ‘important’ people are up here, shoving your cods around. Blah blah, I’ll crush you, yeah? Then you’ve got cloaks and the spy kings, like that tit there. All those secrets, and what gave him up? Some houseboy who don’t know shite, but knows a bad person when he sees one. So no, I’m not knifey-shivdark, all hidden. But if you don’t listen down here too, you risk your breeches.”

The others turned to her. Samarra shook her head, amused. “What she means is, she’s not a spy. But she’s got connections with the ‘less important’ folk, can count on them for help if needed. If the Inquisition doesn’t care for the common folk, then you’re liable to face some negative repercussions as a result.”

“Look, do you need people or not?” Sera asked impatiently. “I want to get everything back to normal. Like you.”

Helena didn’t have to look at Samarra to know what her advice would be. “All right, Sera. I could use you and your friends.” she said with a small smile.

“Yes!” Sera grinned. “Get in good before you’re too big to like. That’ll keep your breeches where they should be. Plus extra breeches, because I have all these… you have merchants who buy that pish, yeah? Got to be worth something. Anyway. Haven. See you there, Herald. This will be grand.” With a nod and a wave, the blond archer slipped into the shadows of the night, and was soon out of sight.

“Well,” Cassandra said uncertainly. “That was… something. We better get a move on before someone catches us.”

“She is certainly preoccupied with breeches,” Solas commented. “A strange woman, indeed. Was it wise to allow her into the Inquisition?” he asked.

“Sera’s odd, but she’s got a good heart. You’ve got Josephine to handle the nobles. Sera will keep an eye on for the common folk. After all, the Inquisition is there to help everyone,” Samarra firmly stated.

“It’ll be interesting having her around,” Helena agreed.

They rode back to the inn, all the while discussing the strange encounter and the strange woman, and finally collapsed into their beds, welcoming sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sera's kind of an annoying little shit, but I can't help but love her to bits and pieces. Plus in Trespasser, she's the only one who cares about the fact that your mark is killing you.


	27. Let's Go Pop Some Tags, We've Got A Pouch Full Of Coins In Our Pocket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's really no point in going to Val Royeaux if one isn't going to go shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

“Please come with me to Madame de Fer’s salon,” Helena pleaded for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“No,” Samarra said flatly.

“But the invite said I could bring a guest!” she pouted. “You don’t want me to be all alone in that den of wolves, do you?”

“You are far more familiar with nobles than I am,” Samarra gave her an exasperated look. “Take Cassandra with you. She’s related to royalty.”

“Do not drag me into this,” Cassandra grunted.

“Please, Samarra? Pleeeeeeeeease. I hate formal gatherings. Why do you think I joined the templar order in the first place?”

“I’m not fond of the nobility. And I’m not sure I’ll like this Lady Vivienne,” she sniffed.

“Why?” Helena perked up. “Did you see a vision?”

“No. But I’ve read about her. She’s a shrewd and wily woman, well-versed in Orlesian politics.”

“She scares you!” Helena crowed.

“No!” _Okay, well, maybe a little. With good reason. I mean, that woman is sharp._

“You are!” Helena laughed. “Cassandra, can you believe this? I think we’ve found the Oracle’s weakness!”

Cassandra only huffed. “If that is so, maybe you should decline the invite,” she said.

“No, it’s too late for me to refuse,” Helena sounded rueful. 

“You should go,” Samarra encouraged. “I hear she is the most shrewd and disciplined mage in all of Orlais. And she has significant political influence. She will be an asset to the Inquisition…” Samarra trailed off.

Helena quirked a brow. “You should come with me.” The brunette cut off her protests. “You can judge her better than I can. You can protect me if need be.”

“I can’t just waltz in with a bow,” she argued.

“Which is why we’re going shopping today. How about this - you come with me, and I’ll get my family to fund that library you and Solas keep talking about.”

She narrowed her eyes at the Herald. “That’s playing dirty.”

Helena shrugged. “I never claimed to be above it.”

She gnawed thoughtfully on her lip. “I’m not wearing a dress,” she said.

“Fine,” Helena threw her hands up in the air. “I’ll get you appropriate pants and a jacket. Next objection?”

“What kind of weapon am I supposed to carry? I can’t take my bow, it’s too prominent, and daggers would attract the wrong kind of attention.”

“You’re a mage. Carry a staff. I’m sure it won’t look out of place there, especially since Lady Vivienne is a mage herself.” Helena said dismissively.

“I haven’t trained with a staff yet!” Samarra protested.

“We have two days, you can learn from Solas,” Helena argued.

“Where exactly am I supposed to practice?” she raised her voice.

Helena deflated, and Samarra immediately felt bad. “Fine,” she said grudgingly. “I’ll come. But I want that library. And the clothes. And you’ll owe me several drinks at the Singing Maiden.”

“Done, done, and done!” Helena promised.

She spent the day with the Herald, browsing all the fashions Val Royeaux had to offer. The city was magnificent, with stunning architecture. Every building was ornately decorated with carvings, columns, and crown moldings on the ceiling. The interiors were richly painted, depicting pastoral scenes, or with floral motifs. A few had characters she presumed to be either the tenant, the proprietor, or someone of historical significance. Walking around the city felt like walking around the piazza in Rome, at the height of the Roman Empire. Everything about the city bespoke wealth, luxury, and artistic tendencies. 

But Samarra could see the darker parts too, the parts that the elegantly dressed nobles turned their faces from. Narrow alleyways cut through some of the prettiest streets, leading to less-pleasant destination. She knew that the Alienage in Val Royeaux was the biggest in Thedas, where ten thousand elves lived, cramped and crowded, in a space no bigger than the size of the Summer Market. But clearly, those who were in charge of the city had done everything they could to hide that from the view of those who lived in the picturesque mansions that dotted the city, and tourists who wandered through the markets, eager to spend their coin.

One day, she thought to herself, one day she would find a way to fix the cruelty that flowed through the city’s veins.

The Summer Market was the crown jewel of the city, elaborate and gorgeous and breathtaking. They strolled by stores of every kind, past patisseries and charming cafes from where the most mouthwatering scents wafted towards them; past perfumeries, where each glass bottle of fragrance was a work of art; they wandered by bookstores, passed stores that dealt with armor and weapons, and home furnishings, and decorations… truly, one could get anything they desired. 

The two women eagerly walked into every clothing store in the square, and examined everything they could, _oohing_ and _aahing_ over the myriad fabrics and patterns. There were elegantly cut ballgowns, with skirts so wide they could hide a man or two; crisply tailored pants, some with the tiniest pleats, others with pretty embroidery. There were tunics and blouses and shirts to choose from, and simple sheath dresses with embellishments of all kinds, from beads to pearls, even gold and diamonds.

Samarra ogled all of them, but finally settled on several pairs of the form-fitting pants that both the shopkeeper and Helena told her suited her. “I’ll take the brown, the plum, and the emerald green,” she listed out.

“Samarra, you simply must get the one in deep blue. It’s divine!” Helena protested.

Samarra shook her head. “I still have many purchases to make,” she said with a smile.

The next store they went to dazzled here. This one dealt exclusively in silks and satins of every kind and color, and cashmere of the softest kind. Samarra sighed over the buttery softness of the fabrics, and lusted after the beautifully draped blouses. She let her treat herself to a cashmere sweater in the prettiest dove grey shade, wincing at the price. _If I hit the jackpot, I’m getting these in every color possible,_ she promised herself.

They were on their way to look at appropriate clothing for Madame de Fer’s salon when she saw it. It was displayed near the entrance, an insipid-looking staff that drew no attention from the people who wandered around the store. Yet there was something about it that called out to her. The staff blade was dull and unremarkable, the grip looked tattered and worn, but the crystal on top - it gleamed and glowed and almost seemed to pulse with light. “Hang on,” she held Helena’s arm to stop her. “I have to get that,” she murmured, almost to herself. She dragged a very confused Helena into the store.

‘Excuse me,” she called out, gaining the attention of the store owner.

“Ahh, bonjour mesdames. I am Pierre-Marie, the proprietor of this store. How may I help you?” he asked, his eyes roving over them and taking in their appearance. Noting their lack of jewellery and fancy clothing, he dismissed them.

“The staff by the door, how much is it?” Samarra enquired, fully aware that he thought they were penniless.

He flicked his fingers dismissively. “The Fadewalker? Beyond your means, I’m sure.”

“A tattered, old, dusty, beaten up staff like that? You mean to tell me there’s someone who’ll actually buy it?” Helena scoffed.

The man’s gaze flickered uncertainly. “It is yours for forty gold pieces,” he said at last.

Helena bargained furiously with him as Samarra made her way over to the staff. She wrapped her hand around the worn grip, feeling a wash of warmth flow through her, and knew it was meant for her.

“Twelve gold and ten silver,” she called out, not looking at the merchant. “And that’s my final offer.”

Pierre-Marie grumbled, but agreed. She handed over the coins to him, sighing to herself at the lightened state of her purse, and walked out, staff held triumphantly in hand.

“You could have gotten a nicer-looking one for the same price,” Helena scolded her.

“No, there’s something about this one,” she disagreed. “It just feels right. I can always get Harritt to fix it up, and polish it to make it look better.”

They reached their final destination for the day, _Annabeth’s_. Josephine had informed them via raven that the store had wonderful fashions, and its owner produced some of the best-tailored clothes in all of Orlais. The owner came to greet them personally, the dainty lady a close friend - and personal tailor - of the ambassador.

“We’re attending Madame Vivienne’s salon and are in need of something appropriate to wear,” Helena explained politely. 

“Lady Trevelyan is the guest,” Samarra added. “I merely accompany her.”

Annabeth looked over the both of them, asking them to twist and turn one way, then the other. “For you, madame,” she addressed Helena, holding out a simple-cut A-line dress with tight-fitting bodice and sleeves up to the elbow, and a modestly scooped neck in the front, “lavender will flatter your complexion like nothing else.”

Helena slipped behind the screen to try on the dress. When she stepped out, Samarra had to admit that Annabeth was a genius. The color was perfect for the brunette, and the cut made her look regal. “Holy mother of- Andraste’s tits, Helena. You look stunning,” she gasped.

“I have to agree,” Annabeth stated, pleased.

“I think so, too,” Helena concurred. “Your turn,” she said, turning to Samarra with a wink.

Annabeth frowned slightly. “Are you sure you do not want a gown?” she asked. “With your fiery red hair… you could make a statement.”

“I’m sure,” she said firmly. 

Annabeth sighed. “A pity. But I have something in mind.” She handed Samarra a pair of beautifully tailored black cigarette pants, and a fitted indigo blue jacket with white embroidery. She was also given a cream silk chemise to wear under the jacket. Moving behind the shades, she pulled off her plain, functional clothes, and slipped into the clothes she’d been given, and looked at herself in the mirror.

She was blown away. The pants accentuated her legs, making them look slim and long. The jacket hugged her curves, showing them off in the best manner possible. The blue of the jacket brought out all the golden tones in her skin, while the white embroidery and the lace of the chemise hinted at innocence.

She judged by Helena’s gasp that the Herald felt the same. Annabeth nodded approvingly. “Most women would shy away from the thought of wearing men’s tailoring, but they suit you well.” The two women finalized their purchases, picking out footwear that would match the fine clothing. _Leliana would have loved this_ , Samarra thought with a smile. Annabeth promised to have everything delivered first thing the next morning.

“If I had the money, I’d ask her to tailor all my clothes,” Samarra sighed dreamily.

“Me too,” Helena said. “Is there anywhere else you wanted to go to, or shall we go back to the inn?”

“I wanted to get some gifts,” Samarra said. “And maybe some pastries.”

“Ooh, I like the sound of cake!”

They found a souvenir shop, where Samarra picked up a raven-shaped brooch for Leliana and a pearl haircomb for Josephine. For Cullen, she found a small bronze statue of a lion. For Ellandra, she chose a pair of delicate silver earrings, for Everna, a raw gemstone necklace. She found for Ashalle, a long, thin necklace with a tiny halla pendant. (The shopkeeper had offered to throw it in for free, on account of the Orlesian’s distaste for the animal). For Varric she chose a pot of green and red inks - she thought he would appreciate the new colors. She knew that Cassandra would be easier to shop for at the bookstore, but she picked up a gold-dipped star-shaped brooch for Helena. As for Solas… she debated whether getting him the pastries would suffice, but her sense of fairness made her feel guilty, and she ended up buying a sketchbook and a tin of charcoal crayons.

She paid for all her purchases, then sighed sadly as she saw the remnants of her savings. _I don’t think I’ll be able to get many books_ , she thought sadly. _Oh well_.

She met up with Helena at the patisserie. The Herald’s mouth was already full of cake, and she had a dreamy expression on her face. “You have to try this!” she exclaimed once she had finished swallowing. “It is possibly the most amazing thing I have ever eaten in my life.”

Samarra amusedly shook her head, but took the offered piece of cake. She nearly moaned as the pastry melted in her mouth, and the flavors spread out over her tongue. Thin layers of sponge cake soaked through with a spiced honeyed wine, filled with a thick, creamy custard, topped with honeyed whipped cream and garnished with toasted slivered pistachios. It was decadent, and it made her want more.

She picked out five more of the same, one for each of them, while Helena picked out the gingerbread stuffed with spicy, creamy apple and pear custard. Finally, satisfied and tired, they made their way back to the inn, each happy with the purchases they’d made, even as they rued their (significantly) lightened purses.

“We come bearing gifts!” Helena announced breezily as she sat herself down next to Cassandra. Samarra was forced to take the only seat available, which had her directly facing Solas. “We stopped by the Patisserie,” she explained. “We brought dessert.” Helena and Cassandra rushed through their meal, clearly excited about the prospect of dessert. She and Helena unpacked the packages, carefully dividing up the small, pretty cakes among the group. 

Cassandra and Helena immediately attacked the pastries with glee, while Varric seemed rather indifferent to it. She casually packed hers away in the now-empty box, claiming that she was too full to eat it when questioned. The truth was, she wanted to enjoy it in peace. She’d spotted a small, unused balcony off the linen closet that overlooked the city, and she was eager to curl up in the corner of it and escape into a bit of ‘treat yo’ self’. When the two women had curled up in bed and were happily dozing away, she quietly snuck out with the box. Slinking into the empty balcony, she carefully shut the door behind her, only to realize she was not alone. Solas was looking up at her, a deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face, his hand frozen in the act of bringing the cake up to his lips.

“I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t know you were here. I’ll… I’ll just let you be.”

He lowered the pastry and sighed. “It is no matter. There is space enough for the both of us.”

She didn’t want to intrude on his private time, but the lights of the city, juxtaposed as they were with the twinkle of starlight, called out to her. “If you’re sure I won’t be disturbing you?” she asked.

“If you were, I would not have made the offer,” his voice held barely-concealed amusement, and she huffed.

“Well then.” she moved to the other end of the space, and lowered herself to the floor. Resting her back against the wall, she slowly opened up the box. “You’ll have to excuse any ridiculous sounds I make. I happen to be particularly fond of cake,” she warned him.

“I will refrain from commenting,” he promised solemnly.

She bit into the first one, groaning quietly as the flavors burst upon her tongue. She savored every slow, deliberate bite, at one point closing her eyes and humming in pleasure. When she was done, she shamelessly licked the crumbs off her fingers before wiping them clean on her tunic. She did not dare look at Solas, not wanting to see what he thought of the display.

When she finally got up to leave, she found him missing, and frowned. How had he managed to slip out without alerting her? And why?

Strange.

The next day, Helena and Cassandra insisted on visiting the Academie des Chevaliers, in the hope of finding someone who would be willing to train Helena in the ways of a Champion. That left her to browse through all the bookstores her heart desired, even if Varric insisted on holding on to her purse - “a pretty thing like you, you’ll get fleeced, Crimson,” he’d said, and she believed him. So when she found herself in Le Plus Grande Librarie Du Val Royeaux, she was like a kid in a candy store. She fell in love with the smell of the leather-bound books, of fresh ink and ancient parchment paper. It was so much better than the modern, somewhat sterile bookstores back home, and made it seem as though each and every book was a rare treasure unto itself.

Since the fall of the Circles, the bookstore had acquired several books on magic, and she found herself engrossed in the various tomes. _Redirecting Ambient Energy_ by First Enchanter Valeria Halmond, _An In-depth Discussion On The Matter Of Nullification Enchantments_ by Grand Enchanter Alexandre Darvell. So lost in her perusal was she that she failed to notice Solas standing next to her. He cleared his throat to get her attention.

“Oh, Solas!” she chirped. “Sorry, I didn’t see you. These books are so amazing, aren’t they? I wish I could just buy them all!” she smiled.

“I thought this might be of interest to you,” he replied, handing over a book. _Veilfire: A Beginner’s Primer with Numerous Teachings, Exercises and Applications_ by Magister Pendictus. 

“Oh my go- goodness, this is amazing!” she exclaimed. “I’m so getting this!” she squealed.

He gave her a small smile. “I have glanced over it, and the information it contains is solid and useful. It will certainly be of help to you.”

“Look at this one,” she caught his arm and dragged him over to the next shelf, and pulled out a book. _A Chant for Dreamers_ , penned by a Magister Oratius. She quickly flipped it open to the page she had been reading, and read aloud:

_“When first I summoned her, she was a rose,_  
_Unwithering, unchanging and unthorned,_  
_A spirit of the purest love one knows,_  
_Who never hated, coveted or scorned._

_A second time I drew her ‘cross the Veil,_  
_And shared a walk, a dance, a stolen kiss,_  
_With such a perfect beauty, pure and pale,_  
_No woman could compare, no man resist._

_Then in my weakness I essayed a third,_  
_Tho’ magisters their warnings did impart._

_She broke my bindings with a single word,_  
_And said this smiling as she clutched my heart:_  
_Though love I was, your passion’s changing fire,_  
_Has forged this spirit into cruel Desire.”_

She looked at him with wide eyes. “I always thought Desire was Purpose, twisted! Now it seems as though any spirit of any nature can be twisted into something cruel. What exactly does the author mean by bindings? I’m assuming it has something to do with a summoning circle? How do they work, I wonder? I mean, how does one draw spirits across the Veil?” Her questions stumbled into each other.

He laughed softly. “We shall discuss this matter at a later time. For the moment, enjoy your time here. We do not know when a second visit here will take place - if it does so at all.”

“There better be a second time,” she murmured absently, eyes fixed on a paragraph.

By the time they finished, it was nearing dusk, and the harsh daylight had given way to the softer rays of twilight. She walked to the counter, a stack of books in her hands, having been hard-pressed to choose. Finally, she’d settled on the book about Veilfire, as well as _The Shape of the Fade_ by Enchanter Ephineas Aserathan, and of course, the famous book by Brother Gentivi, _In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar_. She also opted for _A Dissertation on the Fade as a Physical Manifestation_ , surmising that it would serve as a good contrast to the other book on the Fade, seeing as the tome had been penned by Mareno, Senior Enchanter of the Minrathous Circle of Magi. _It’ll be interesting to compare the difference in how the mages in southern Thedas and Tevinter view the Fade,_ she thought.

She also picked up an action romance novel for Cassandra - she had had to ask Varric for his suggestions, correctly theorizing that he would know best about which authors to choose from, but it had caused the dwarf to tease her mercilessly. She’d put up with it, red cheeks and all, not wanting to give away the Seeker’s secret before time.

Varric hustled her out of the store as the owner began writing up the billet, ignoring her protests by claiming she would get in the way. Grumbling, she walked outside, sitting next to Solas on one of the stone benches that were scattered through the summer market.

He noted the absence of a package with raised brows, giving her a questioning look.

“Varric chased me out,” she explained. “He said, and I quote, “You’ll be more of an annoyance than a help, Crimson. Go on out and stay out of my way.” I’m not sure whether I should be annoyed or not. I’m pretty sure I might have picked up more books than my purse will allow, and he’s being very kind about it.”

“If someone does you a kindness, it is best not to question it, and to accept it gracefully,” he said, his lips upturned.

“Oh, I know,” she replied. “I just feel bad, he shouldn’t be spending his money on me.”

“Did you not do the same?” Solas chuckled. “You bought pastries for all of us last night, did you not?”

“Yeah, but so did Helena,” she defended.

“And if Varric had offered to do the same for the Herald, would you have felt the same? That he should not be spending his coin on her?”

She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again when she couldn’t think of a rebuttal. “You’re right,” she conceded.

“I am, but it is always nice to hear someone else say so,” he smirked.

She laughed and playfully punched his arm. “You’re insufferable!” 

When Varric finally walked out with her parcel of books - and her purse, which actually still had some coin in it. She shook her head at the dwarf, who only shrugged cheerfully in response. They walked back to the inn, everyone packing up their possessions and purchases for the trip to the Ghislain Estate. The other three would spend the day at their own leisure while she and Helena attended the salon, and the five of them would return back to Haven the following day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3500 words on shopping _just because I can_.
> 
> I'm totally one of those people who make noises when I'm eating dessert. IT'S JUST SO GOOD OKAY.
> 
> Off topic, but I'm finding myself getting a little bit stuck. I'm trying to write about Crestwood and... ugh. So confused. I have so many ideas for what comes after that, but I'm so totally stuck for that bit! I haven't been able to write anything for the past few days. Augh.


	28. There Ain't No Salon Like An Orlesian Salon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald is cordially invited to attend a salon at the Ghislain Estate, courtesy Vivienne De Fer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos! It keeps me going even when my mind is totally blank :)
> 
> * * *

The mansion was nearly palatial in nature, with imposing columns, statues, and even balustrades carved from exquisite white marble. Beautiful paintings were displayed in equally beautiful golden frames. The staircase was carved from a stone that resembled granite. The ceilings were high and arched, with crown molding around the corners. There were dozens of water fountains scattered through the mansion, each of them softly gurgling water. The sweet scent of flowers wafted in through the windows from the gardens outside, and amplified by the numerous bouquets placed around the room.

It looked like something her parents would have been had commissioned for themselves, and for that reason alone Samarra hated it.

“Lady Trevelyan of Ostwick,” the Lord Chamberlain announced, “representing the Inquisition. Accompanying her, Lady Bayart of Rivain.”

“I’m so thankful there was no mention of Herald,” Helena whispered to Samarra.

“I know!” she whispered back. “We’re getting enough attention as it is.”

And indeed they were. Whether it was because of what they wore - which, despite how grand their clothing was, was not quite similar to what the others wore - or the fact that they walked in without masks was hard to tell. Samarra leaned to the latter, correctly presuming it was the prospect of new, unfamiliar faces that had the tongues wagging.

They walked in, and picked up glasses of champagne offered to them. As they sipped the delicate liquid, several of the nobles surrounded them. 

_Here come the gossips_ , Samarra thought irritably. It was going to be immensely annoying to mingle with these pompous asses. _Just consider this practice. Remember what the Black Fox said. A good rogue gives away nothing, but gets everything they require. The more you can learn from them, the better._

“What a pleasure to meet you, my lady,” someone wearing a gold doublet with ridiculously puffed-up sleeves addressed her. His eyes were lecherous, raking over her face and body before settling on her bosom. “I am Lord Nikolai. This lovely lady next to me is Lady Daskin. It is so wonderful to have a new face around. Seeing the same faces at every event becomes so _tiresome_.”

 _I wonder if you even looked at their faces_ , she thought irritably. It was like dealing with drunk frat boys all over again. “You are too kind, my lord. I’m sure the pleasure is all mine,” she replied, a saccharine-sweet smile painted on her face.

His smile grew wider. “So you must be a guest of Madame de Fer,” he said, indicating her staff. It was a crude attempt at a joke, and Samarra debated over how to respond to it. _Flattery. That will get them. Play the country bumpkin if you have to, if they underestimate you, then the better._

“You must be a mind reader!” she giggled. Emboldened by her reaction, he made as though to take a step towards her, when another voice spoke up, a woman this time. “Are you here on business?” she asked in a lilting accent. “I have heard the most curious tales of you. I cannot imagine half of them are true.”

She glanced over at Helena, who was clearly out of her element amidst the throng of nobles gathered around her. “Everything you’ve heard? Completely true. As a matter of fact, you should ask the Herald herself!” She gestured to Helena, who used it as an excuse to leave her group. The look she gave Samarra was filled with gratitude. “Lord Nikolai, Lady Daskin, might I introduce you to Lady Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste?” The two nobles immediately pounced on Helena, throwing question after question at her. Some of them Samarra gracefully intercepted, especially when she thought that the nobles were prodding for signs of weaknesses - which they did, and often.

“The Inquisition!” A man scoffed. “What a load of pigshit!”

_Ahhh, here it comes. Don’t you know, you poor man, you’re playing right into Vivienne’s hands. Or… maybe **my** hands. Why not defend the Inquisition AND take away Vivienne’s pleasure at taking this moron down? Might as well upstage her._

_Or, if you’re wise, you’ll do that, and gracefully give her the kill. You know. Play into her good side for now. There’s no point in getting her guard up right from the start._

“Washed up sisters and crazed Seekers?” he jeered. “No one can take them seriously.”

Helena started next to her, but Samarra held her elbow as a warning. She turned to face the man, a disinterestedly amused smirk on her face. It worked to set the man off. He approached them, finally standing in front of Helena. “Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power.”

 _I’m going in_. “Poor Marquis Alphonse,” she mocked. “Hurling insults like some Ferelden dog lord.” He bristled, stepping towards her menacingly, but she simply waved her arm and froze him in place, much like Vivienne would have done. “All dressed up in your Aunt Solange’s doublet. Didn’t she give you that to wear to the Grand Tourney? To think… all the brave Chevaliers who will be completing left for Markham this morning… and you’re still here.” She tut-tutted. “Were you hoping to sate your damaged pride by insulting the Herald of Andraste? Or were you hoping her blade could put an end to the misery of your failure?”

She stepped back and sighed. “Alas, it is not upon me to decide what becomes of you. That, I will leave to our most gracious host.” She turned to the stairway, where Vivienne was watching the proceedings. “A thousand apologies, Lady Vivienne, for interrupting your party so rudely.” Samarra released the marquis from the ice grip. “I trust you will handle this poor man as you see best.” 

Vivienne walked towards them, her face hidden by a mask. Her clothing was far more stunning and awe-inspiring than the game could ever hope to indicate. Samarra curtsied politely to the older woman, nudging Helena to do the same.

“My dear Marquis,” Madame de Fer spoke smoothly. “How unkind of you to use such language in my house… to my guests.” The marquis begged her pardon almost instantly, and Samarra was both amused and awed by the influence Vivienne wielded. “You know such rudeness is… intolerable.” Vivienne sighed. “Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear? Insulting the honor of my guests is unacceptable.” 

Vivienne snapped her fingers, and Samarra watched in alarm as the man began to turn blue. Realizing the First Enchanter intended to freeze the man to death, Samarra started to protest, but was beaten to it by Helena. “I’m sure the marquis has learned his lesson,” she said. “There’s no point in killing him.”

Madame de Fer stopped instantly, and Samarra realized, impressed, that it had been part of the woman’s plan all along. _She’s letting everyone know that she will defend the honor of those she considers worthy. Smart move. I’m sure a lot more people here will be vying for her favor. While I’m not sure what I’ve accomplished but letting these people know not to fuck with me? Could be worse, I guess._ “You should thank the Herald for her generosity, marquis. Now run along, my dear. Do give my regards to your aunt.” The marquis scrambled away, thoroughly humiliated.

“I’m delighted you could attend this little gathering, my dear. I’ve so wanted to meet you,” Vivienne was as charming as charming could be, but Samarra could see the curiosity in the woman’s eyes. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard, and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

_Don’t mention Morrigan, don’t mention Morrigan._

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Vivienne. I am Helena Trevelyan, and this is Samarra Bayart. We are here on behalf of the Inquisition,” Helena smoothly intoned.

“Ah, yes, the woman they call the Oracle of Andraste,” Vivienne all but purred, turning towards Samarra. “Tell me, is it true that you can see into the future?”

Samarra felt the tell-tale tingle of an oncoming vision and hurriedly replied. “My lady, I beg pardon, but I feel a tad faint. Perhaps we can continue this conversation upon my return?” She moved swiftly to the nearest window, as though to breathe in the fresh air. The vision burst into her mind, of Vivienne jealous and resentful of the position Samarra had acquired in the Inquisition, working to poison the minds of her companions. She saw Vivienne subtly imply to the rest that she was a possessed blood mage, telling them that ‘no ordinary mage could learn magic so quickly… not under normal circumstances’. She saw the others begin to look at her with distrust, and saw Helena raise a blade against her after the events at Redcliffe.

 _Why, that conniving little bitch. That ruthless fucking bitch. She thinks she can bring me down? Oh no, Vivienne, I’m not going to let you bring me down. Nope. In fact, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you go down._

She rejoined the two women, an apologetic smile on her face. “Terribly sorry. Sometimes, I find myself having shortness of breath, and it is imperative that I get some fresh air.”

Vivienne clucked sympathetically. “You should see a healer about that, my dear. It sounds rather distressing. And how inconvenient must it be?”

“I probably should,” she said noncommittaly. “To answer your question before I was overcome, Lady Vivienne, yes, I have been fortunate enough to have some insight into the future. It seems to be limited to the Inquisition, but that is what is most important at the moment, yes?”

 _Give her some bit of the truth. She’ll probably have found out for herself back in Haven. Let her think whatever I see is only limited to Helena._

_Why does there have to be so much of manipulation and mental acrobatics? Solas was bad enough, but Vivienne too? Ugh. I should have just flat out stated I was from Earth back at the start, it would have made things a whole lot easier. And I could listen to my music._

_Yeah, you go on thinking that. Pretend that Leliana and Cassandra and Cullen would have been fuzzy little bunnies who would have welcomed you in with open arms, weaving flowers and ribbons in your hair as part of the welcoming ritual._

_Wow, So much snark._

_You did what you thought you had to do at the time. Stop second-guessing yourself, that is the worst thing you can do._

“What a wonderful gift to have, I’m sure,” Vivienne drawled. “It must benefit the Inquisition greatly.”

Helena smiled. “It has been very useful, yes. But Samarra has brought more to the Inquisition than just her talents. She is a healer of no meager talents. Haven has benefitted greatly from her presence.”

Vivienne’s mouth twisted upwards in surprise. “Is that so? Well then. We shall most certainly have to discuss techniques, my dear.”

Samarra bowed her head. “Only a fool would decline such a generous offer from an alchemist of renowned talent,” she smiled.

“Ah, so you have heard of me,” Vivienne seemed pleased.

“Indeed, my lady. I have heard several nobles sing your praises in Ayesleigh.” she said.

“Ayesleigh? Then you must have been in the Circle at Dairsmud?” Vivienne questioned.

“Nay, my lady. I have only recently gained my magical abilities, much like the Herald.”

Vivienne’s mouth twisted. “So you are an apostate,” she sneered.

“Technically, all mages are apostates now that the Circles have fallen,” Helena calmly interjected. “Did you wish to speak with me, Lady Vivienne?”

“Yes, of course. Perhaps we should move to someplace that affords us more privacy? Excuse us, my dear,” Vivienne addressed Samarra, who nodded.

She picked up another flute of champagne, and retired to the windowsill, hoping to listen in to their conversation. A plan that was sadly ruined by the arrival of one of the nobles. “It is unacceptable that a woman as lovely as yourself lacks company,” the stranger declared. “I am Vicomte Etienne de Chevin.”

She smiled, a little thinly. “A pleasure to meet you, my lord. I am Samarra Bayart.”

He took her hand and raised it to his lips, and she suppressed the shiver of dismay that threatened. “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Samarra. Tell me, how do you know Madame de Fer?”

_Wow, pretty blunt._

“I do not have the fortune to personally know Lady Vivienne, my lord,” she replied smoothly. “I have certainly heard of her, of course. I am here as companion to Lady Trevelyan.”

His eyes twinkled. “So you chaperone the Herald of Andraste? How droll, especially for a pretty young thing such as yourself.”

“You flatter me, my lord.”

“The Maker’s truth is never flattery, my dear.”

“Are you well-acquainted with Lady Vivienne?” she inquired smoothly.

“We are acquaintances, but I am here as a guest of Duke Bastien,” he replied. “I serve on the Council of Heralds together with him. Although his son, Laurent, has taken over recently. Poor Bastien. All that travelling he did cannot have been good for a man of his age.”

“I hope he regains his health soon,” she murmured. 

“I fear it may not be as simple as that,” her companion said ruefully. “Time is not a foe one can battle.”

They conversed pleasantly for a while longer, with the Vicomte doing much of the talking. It was then that Samarra realized just how much work she would have to do. She needed to learn of all the noble familes and lineages, and which lands they held. She would need to know which families were currently _de rigeur_ , which families were feuding, know who currently was in the Empress’ favor. There were titles to read up on, as well as poets, writers, artists and musicians.

She’d had practice at this, though. Learning the who’s who, and the ins and outs of high society came easily to her. She’d just ask Josephine to get her some books on the matter, or better yet, learn from the Ambassador herself.

At last, she saw Helena coming towards her, and gracefully excused herself from the Vicomte, who pressed another kiss to her hand before allowing her to leave. 

“So?” she asked Helena impatiently.

“I don’t like the woman one bit, but I’ve asked her to join the Inquisition,’ the brunette said.

“Good. I’ve seen something I must warn you - and the others - about. Will she be accompanying us?”

“No, thank the Maker. She says she has matters to finalize here, and that she will join us back at Haven.” Helena replied.

“That’s a relief. Do you want to stay some more time, or leave?”

“I suppose it’s best if we mingle for a little while longer. It’ll look rude if we leave right now. Is that okay with you?

“Ehh. I can’t wait to get back, but you’re right I suppose. Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

They mingled with the guests, who fawned over them as though they were alien specimens. Half of the nobles there flirted with and/or leered outrageously at them, while the other half tried their best to get them to divulge details. To Samarra’s utter dismay, word of her foresight had reached them, and they gathered around her, clamoring to have their futures told. She’d had several offers, one from a Duke, and several from lesser nobles, to leave the Inquisition and take up with them instead, and to use her abilities for their benefit.

She’d had the hardest time trying to reign in her temper and play nice, parroting over and over again that her abilities were tied to the Inquisition, and she would be of little aid to them. Despite that, she was on the receiving end of several threats, all from those who’d done something wrong, or were about to do something wrong, and were worried that she would discover their thoughts and actions.

Before long, she had enough information to keep Leliana and Josephine occupied for a week. She discovered that Comtess Pendest was carrying not her husband’s child, but his brother’s. Marquis Wexler’s planned to create an unfortunate accident for his new venture partner, the Earl of Riverbend, after which he intended to seize the Earl’s lands for himself. Vicomte Burell was deeply in debt, and had the Carta coming after him. All material either for blackmail, or for offers to be made to the other party - with certain conditions, of course.

By the time they managed to take their leave, Helena had fended off three offers of marriage, and was thoroughly entertained by the sight of Samarra’s ardent followers trailing after them, lingering even as the two women boarded their carriage.

“I think you made quite the impression,” Helena laughed.

“Don’t remind me,” Samarra shuddered. “Everyone kept touching my hair. Four women tried to snip off a bunch of my hair! ‘For their hairdressers’, they claimed. Haven’t these people ever seen a redhead before? What is wrong with them?”

“This is Orlais,” Helena deadpanned. “What _isn’t_ wrong with them?”

When they reached their inn, they found Cassandra - and Solas, to her surprise - waiting up for them. “How did it go?” the Seeker demanded.

“Excellent,” Samarra replied, a little bitterly, catching the attention of the apostate elf.

Helena chuckled. “Our seeress here caused a stir at the salon,” she teased. “She received seven job offers, five proposals of marriage, and had to fend off women who wanted samples of her hair, and men who wanted a sampling of her lips.”

“Orlesians suck,” Samarra made a grimace, even as she caught sight of Cassandra’s lips turning up into a small grin. “Are you laughing at me, Seeker?” she demanded.

“Yes,” Cassandra said bluntly. “I am glad I did not accompany the Herald. I do not think I could have resisted drawing my blade.”

“You should have seen her, Cassandra,” Helena chimed in. “She decimated one poncy marquis who insulted the Inquisition. The man practically ran out of the estate, his tail between his legs!” she turned to Samarra. “It was so magnificent. And Vivienne was impressed, too! She kept asking me about you, and about your abilities.”

“Ah yes, Madame de Fer,” Samarra remarked dryly. “I do not believe she likes me.”

“You said you’d seen something you needed to tell us,” Helena remembered. “What was it?”

Samarra quickly outlined what she’d seen in her vision, omitting the part where Helena approached the mages. “So, basically, she goes around Haven implying I’m a blood mage, makes everyone suspicious of me - yes, even you Helena, and certainly Cullen and Leliana. Even Cassandra here started to believe the suggestion. Then, something happens - I don’t know what - Helena goes somewhere, and when she returns to Haven, she tries to kill me,” Samarra said somberly. “I’m not a blood mage, I promise you that.”

“Indeed, the Oracle is no blood mage,” Solas agreed. “She is a woman of talent, and has gained remarkable control over her powers, but I have worked with her, and neither of us are blood mages,” he stated with emphasis.

“I believe you,” Cassandra reassured her. 

“For the moment, yes,” Samarra said. “But Vivienne is wily. She will spread rumors so carefully we will not be able to trace them back to her. If we are to battle her, we must play her game.”

“You mean, discredit her before she has a chance to do it to us?” Helena turned the idea over in her head. “I like it,” she said slowly. “Not that I’m a fan of being underhanded, but in this case, I’ll make an exception. The woman rubs me the wrong way.”

Samarra chuckled. “Yes, she most certainly does.”

They finally decided on letting Leliana and Josephine handle the matter. Samarra thought it was a good idea, and would lull Vivienne into thinking she was toothless. Leliana and Josephine were both ruthless in their own ways, and would be able to better combat the former First Enchanter better than she could on her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a love/hate relationship with Vivienne. In that I love to hate her...
> 
> Can't deny she's one badass bitch, though.
> 
> Still struggling with Crestwood, you guys :( It's getting better, but... since I'm kinda-sorta deviating from the plot a bit, the details aren't quite slotting in together the way I want them to. _augh_ I hate having like wispy details in my head that don't translate into words well. Booooo.


	29. The One With Fade Stories And Flirtations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last minute encounters in Val Royeaux. Solas gets excited for Fade stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: weekly 
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *

They prepared to leave Val Royeaux the next morning, having picked up a message from Leliana, who was worried about the disappearance of Grey Wardens in the wake of the Divine’s death. One of her agents had reported seeing a man, in full Grey Warden regalia, travelling through the Hinterlands, and Leliana wanted them to question this Warden Blackwall.

Helena had sighed and tucked the note into her rucksack, grumbling about having to delay their return, but she’d agreed to seek out the man. It would mean another week before they returned to Haven, but they’d be sending their purchases directly through Haven via one of the scout resupply wagons. Samarra had taken care to whisper directions to the scouts asking them to make sure her parcel was completely and securely sealed, telling them that it held a surprise for the spymaster, and she didn’t want it to be ruined. They had all promised to keep her bag safely hidden away till she returned to Haven.

As they were leaving the city, a cloaked figure stepped out of the shadows, directly onto their path. They all froze, Helena and Cassandra reaching for the hilts of their swords. Only Samarra remained calm, because she knew who it was. _Grand Enchanter Fiona._

It was vital that Helena meet the leader of the mage rebellion, because it was the only way that she would agree to help the mages. Which was what Samarra wanted - she hoped that the information she gave Cullen would help him save templar lives, but the mages and Tranquil more desperately needed their help.

Or maybe she felt that way being a mage herself. Who knew. She couldn’t claim to not be biased.

“If I might have a moment of your time?” a female voice spoke, pulling the hood of her cloak down warily as she approached them.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Cassandra was disbelieving.

“Leader of the mage rebellion?” Solas stepped forward, an inquisitive look on his face. It appeared as though he wanted to get a closer look at Fiona, as though he was curious to know more about her. “Is it not dangerous for you to be here?”

“I heard of this gathering. And I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste - and her Oracle - with my own eyes.” She gave their group a once over, but Samarra could feel an inquisitive pulse of magic directed towards her, trying to probe into her. She cleared her throat and raised her brows at the Grand Enchanter, not very pleased at the unwanted intrusion. 

Fiona smiled as though satisfied. “If it’s help with the Breach you seek, perhaps my people are the wiser option.” she offered, a calculating gleam in her eye.

The Grand Enchanter was no fool, Samarra realized. Though she’d been portrayed as one - after all, who opted to indenture themselves to a Tevinter magister - having seen Fiona in the flesh, she knew that the woman had done so out of sheer desperation. And perhaps, some kind of magic. Maybe even mind control; she couldn’t put it past the Venatori. After all, the leader of the mage rebellion had to be strong, clever and confident - not to mention talented - and Fiona was certainly all those, and more..

“I’m surprised the leader of the mages wasn’t at the Conclave,” Helena said stiffly.

“Yes, you were supposed to be, and yet somehow you avoided death,” Cassandra was suspicious.

Samarra rolled her eyes. “As the leader of the mage rebellion, the Grand Enchanter would have feared a trap,” she explained. “No doubt both she and the Lord Seeker sent negotiators in their stead.”

“That is true,” Fiona stated, surprised. “I won’t pretend I’m not glad to live. I lost many dear friends that day.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said. “The Breach took too many good lives.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Solas’ expression shift ever so slightly for a miniscule moment. If she hadn’t been watching for it, she’d have missed it.

“It disgusts me to think the templars will get away with it,” Fiona spat. “I’m hoping you won’t let them.”

Cassandra and Helena looked taken aback at the venom in her voice. Solas didn’t seem surprised, which didn’t surprise Samarra, given that he wasn’t fond of the templars himself. Varric seemed rather confused… or he was just silently observing the scene to write about it later, Samarra guessed, amusedly.

“The mages weren’t willing to talk to the Inquisition before. Why now?” Helena questioned.

“Because now I’ve seen what you are. And I’ve seen the Chantry for what it is,” the Grand Enchanter explained, and Samarra silently agreed with the woman’s assessment of the Chantry. Samarra had never liked the scene at Val Royeaux, and had always wished for an option to really tell off the Mother Hervera after her grandstanding had failed. “Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe to come meet with the mages. An alliance could help both of us, after all.”

With a considering look, and a pleasantly delivered goodbye, the woman slipped back into the shadows, no doubt to make her way back to Redcliffe.

They continued on their way, passing the time with idle chit chat. Once they were on the Imperial Highway, Helena revisited the topic. “So, is it worth meeting the Grand Enchanter?” she asked, waiting to hear what everyone had to say.

Samarra opted to hold her tongue till the others had had their say.

“Solas mentioned that the mark needed more power in order for it to be capable of closing the Breach,” Cassandra said. “If that is the case, then an alliance with the mages would serve us well.”

“I agree,” Solas concurred. “The power that the mages can offer would certainly be sufficient.”

“Don’t ask me, Glowbug,” Varric raised his hands defensively. “I have no idea how this magic stuff works. You want me to kill a bunch of demons, I’m game.”

“Samarra?” Helena called out. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Samarra replied, choosing her words carefully, “that it won’t hurt to meet with Fiona at Redcliffe.”

Helena shook her head. “Let me guess; you’ve had a vision,” she said amusedly, “and you can’t tell me what it is.”

She smiled despite herself. “Kind of? I know what options you have, but I also know the choice is yours to make.”

“I have options? Well, that’s something,” Helena mumbled. “Who do I have to choose between?”

“We’ll discuss it later,” Samarra deflected. “It’s best that the advisors are present as well.”

“Fine,” Helena pouted. “So, what’s up with this whole Grey Warden business anyway? Think this Warden Blackwall will have some idea as to what’s going on?”

_Ahhh, Blackwall. The false Warden. Dude won’t have any clue what he’s talking about, Helena my dear, because - gasp shock horror - he **isn’t** one! But that’s not my secret to share. You’ll find out about him - and the Grey Wardens - eventually._

_Maybe… do you think there is a way to stop the Grey Wardens from using blood magic? You know, before the whole Tevinter ritual tower/Adamant fortress crap?_

_Hmmmm…. Maybe. It might be worth looking into. I wonder if they’ll believe me if I tell them, though. It seems really outlandish. I mean, as of right now, the Wardens are renowned warriors who do good. Would anyone believe you if you said they were practicing blood magic and summoning a demon army?_

_More likely they’ll think you’ve gone insane. And Leliana might legit kill you. She’s got the hots for the Hero of Ferelden, remember? Who is… a Warden._

_Hey, which reminds me… I need to find out which of my Warden characters is the Hero of Ferelden. I hope it’s the female Cousland. I do **NOT** want to deal with a Hawke/Alistair choice. Nope nope nope nope. _

She zoned back into the group conversation, to catch the tail end of Cassandra’s statement that they Grey Wardens did not seem like they would have had a part in the Divine’s death.

She sighed. _Oh, Cassandra. You’ll learn the truth in the Fade._

At that instant, she was jolted into a vision. She was in the war room with the advisors, Helena and Cassandra, and was telling them about the Grey Wardens. After a long and drawn out argument, the words of which she couldn’t hear, she saw Helena throw her hands up in resignation. The scene then shifted to Helena, Cassandra, Vivienne and Sera approaching Adamant fortress with a few soldiers - presumably to get more information - and she watched, horrified, as they were all slaughtered by Grey Warden mages even before they could talk to Clarel.

_Okay. So me no tell them about the Grey Wardens yet, got it._

She gave a sudden shiver as the vision ended, her skin still in goosebumps from seeing the vicious attack on the four women. _These visions are getting harder and harder to bear_ , she though dismayed. It was one thing to know how the events of the game would play out, but these genuine visions showed her things that really weren’t pleasant, and it sucked that she could confide in no one.

“Is everything all right? You seem somewhat shaken,” Solas asked in a low voice.

Samarra exhaled. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

“A particularly intense vision, was it?”

“Rather unpleasant,” she conceded. 

It occurred to her that Solas was the only one who knew when she had a vision. And, to her surprise, he never once asked her what she saw, only inquiring about her well being. He pulled Whitmore up alongside Isaline - the two horses having reached a truce of sorts - and chatted away to her, asking her opinion on some triviality or another. She recognized the distraction, and was grateful for it. Even though there was a sense of distrust and uneasiness between them, it was nice to know someone cared enough to try and take her mind away from what bothered her.

It was rather disconcerting to know that it was _Solas_ of all people who was that someone.

She asked him more about his studies, and he told her that he studied the Fade, wandering through the vastness of it to learn stories and gain knowledge.

_What knowledge would you need to gain, old wolf, that you must seek it out? Or is it rather memories you seek, memories of the time when your people reigned supreme? Do you search for those morsels of familiarity, sustain yourself on the little comfort and warmth they provide?_

The thought made her sad. Not just for him, but for herself too. She had done the opposite - refused to delve into her memories of familiar faces and places, for fear she would fall apart.

She looked at him then, the only other person in this new world who could remotely relate to her.

“Tell me of the old memories you found in the Fade,” she caught herself asking him.

The smile of excitement on his face, mixed with some disbelief - disbelief that anyone would care to hear of them - made her feel bad. _I should have asked him about this before_ , she realized. It makes him happy.

She didn’t want to think about why making him happy was so important.

“I saw a savage human horde go marching toward the battlefront. They sang a soldier’s hymn to keep formation. The primal music shook the ground. These savage unwashed warriors carried harmonies no Chantry choir has mastered. Though their cause was all but hopeless. They sang songs that made the spirits weep.”

She could picture in in her head - the earth shaking as the men marched in unison, the chants ringing through the air, hope and anger and anticipation pulsing like a heartbeat. She could see them bearing arms, their armor muddied and bloodied, their eyes ripe with their faith and belief as they approached their enemy… _as they approached an army of elves, whose armor shone in the light, whose weapons gleamed with cruel thirst, whose faces bore smirks and teeth-baring grins._

That was the hopeless cause, then.

 _And that’s why we don’t ask the apostate for his Fade stories_ , she thought irritably. Of course he’d bring up something about the ‘savage, unwashed humans’. She should have known better.

“What was their cause?” she asked him. “Who did they face?”

“I do not know,” he replied calmly. “The memory showed me only the song they sang. It inspired the spirits, who captured the moment.”

“I hope they found peace,” she murmured.

He gave her a sideways look. “Would you like to hear some more?” he asked.

_Say no. Let him stuff his ‘unwashed humans’ crap up his craphole. You don’t have to listen to his racist stories._

“Yes, I’d like that,” she heard herself say.

 _Dammit, woman._

“I saw a dwarf emerge into the light of day, and shield his eyes against the sun, the first time he had ever seen it. Tears were streaming from his eyes. I thought them from the blazing light until I saw the rock he held so tightly. Then he laid the rock down gently, and he left it as he walked away.”

She could see the ancient dwarf, a proud and happy man, rejoicing with his wife, whose belly was ripe with child. She saw him carve the child’s cradle with his own hands, carving symbols of protection and love on it, preparing it for his son. Watched as the man stand by helplessly as his wife suffered through labor pains, could almost feel his worry as the child refused to leave the safety of his mother’s womb. Then saw, at last, the man hold his son in his hands, the son who he had so desperately wanted, but the child was not breathing. She watched as the man entombed his stillborn son, returning him back to the Stone. Saw him break the cradle he’d so painstakingly carved, weeping over the broken pieces as though he had lost everything. At long last, when his shoulders no longer shook with sobs, when his throat was too raw to produce any sound of grief, she saw him take the smallest piece of the rock, bearing the symbol for love, and carry it upwards, laying it gently out into the open ground, both an offering and a plea.

“You are crying,” Solas observed in surprise. “Was what I said that upsetting?”.

Samarra shifted. So lost had she been in the memory, she hadn’t noticed the tears running freely down her cheeks. She wiped them away hastily, not wanting to draw the others’ attention. “No,” she said. 

“Maybe,” she amended as she caught sight of the flat look he gave her. “It’s just… I was like I could _feel_ the grief of that dwarf. Whatever that piece of rock was… it must have held great sentiment to him.”

“Possibly,” Solas said. “You say you felt his grief? That is interesting. Are you truly that empathetic?”

 _What you’re asking me is, did I have another vision_ , she thought wryly. _And of course, you’re not going to flatly come out and ask me about it, because you know I won’t tell you, so you’re using your wolfy skills to try and go ninja-style._

“I don’t believe I am,” she said with a little laugh. “It must be your way with words, Solas.” _How do you like that answer?_

Not very, it seemed, because he frowned. “I do not believe I am capable of causing women to weep with a few words,” he retorted. “Nor is it something I would wish to be capable of,” he added with a straight face, a sly twist to his lips.

_Oooh. That was a well-placed, sneaky little flirt there, old wolf. Now, how shall I reply? Do I ignore it? Feint, thrust, or parry?_

_Parry_. That much was obvious. What wasn’t as obvious was _why_. “Not all tears are of sadness,” she replied, schooling her features into neutrality. “In those cases, would it not be considered a good thing to make a woman cry?”

“And what cases might those be?” he asked, amused.

 _And we go for the kill_. “Why, in bed of course,” she answered, a wicked, devious smile on her lips. “Haven’t you ever seen a woman _sob_ in rapturous pleasure as she fell apart?” Not giving him a chance to reply, she spurred Isaline onwards, catching up with Varric, and drawing the dwarf into an easy conversation.

When she turned her head to look back at Solas, she found him smirking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I have to thank y'all for your kind comments as I work my way through a nasty case of writer's block. I'm trying not to make things boring or repetitive (or follow too closely to the Inquisitor's path) and I think that may just have bitten me in the ass. Whoops.
> 
> Secondly, regarding Vivienne in the last chapter - I just want to say that I think she's a well-written character, and I respect and admire many things about her. Her one flaw, which totally turns me off her, is her lack of empathy, and her greed for power (okay, so two flaws). I've never been able to relate to that (Solas approval > Vivienne approval, heh)
> 
> Lastly, thank you so much to everyone who reads this story, and those of you who leave kudos and comments behind. Reading what you have to say oftentimes makes my day! It's so amazing, and rather humbling to know that there are people out there who enjoy these random ideas in my head. [Seriously, I'm 10/10 amazed all the time]. So thank you for reading this story of mine, truly. ❤


	30. Wardens, Waterfalls and Wandering Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bathing mishaps and warden meetings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

They reached the Inquisition camp at Lake Luthias mid-afternoon, and everyone was glad to finally be able to rest for a bit. Never in her life had Samarra been more happy to see a body of water than she was at that moment. Being covered in dust, sweat, and blood had made life on the road very difficult on her nose, and even though the others had taken to wiping themselves down with a damp towel twice a day - mainly because she’d thrown a major hissy fit, and had threatened to cover them in ice to ‘spare her poor nose’ - but it didn’t quite match what a bath would.

There were small mercies, however. Like the fact that she did not burn in the sun, as poor Helena and Varric had. It had come as a mild surprise to find that Solas, despite his paleness, was not prone to sunburn either. (The fact had made Helena childishly angry, and she’d pouted all evening about unfairness of being sorely affected by the sun when ‘the redhead’ was immune). Their party had (mostly) developed rather fetching tans. Cassandra looked like a beautiful Amazonian goddess, the bronze tint to her skin pairing fetchingly well with the fiery look in her eyes. She caught Varric wincing slightly as he applied the soothing balm Solas had concocted for him on his reddened skin. Despite her repeated attempts, it appeared as though magic could not heal sunburns, which had amused her, but neither the Herald nor the dwarf shared her amusement.

“We’re going to bathe, Samarra, are you coming?” Helena called out.

_Wait, what? Is everyone just going to go splashing in? Everyone? Like, guys and girls? Together?_ Samarra was no prude, but she was modest, and it struck her as odd that in this medieval setting, men and women would bathe together.

_You know what that means, right? They’re all going to be naked. Or near naked. They’re going to see you naked. Or near naked._ Suddenly shy - especially since she was with Helena and Cassandra, two absolutely gorgeous women - she hesitated.

Helena caught her uncertainty. “You can always go later, if you want,” she said kindly. “I’ll keep watch, if you’re worried.”

“Thank you,” she replied gratefully. “I think I’d like that.” She took the opportunity to discard her armor, and handing it over to one of the scouts to repair the tear in it from a wayward sellsword’s blade. Going into the tent she shared with the women, she pulled out all her clothes, intending to wash them. There were many basic skills she’d been forced to learn during her time in Haven - laundry (too bad there weren’t washing machines in Thedas), cooking (how the cooks managed to make anything in those stone ovens, and wood-fuelled stoves was beyond her, but she knew enough to not die of starvation). Sewing had come a little easier to her, having practiced stitches during her stint in med school. 

She made a little note in her journal about asking Solas for the formula of the sunburn remedy, as well as the possibility of looking into creating sunscreen. And, even though it was rather vain, she wanted to make a bar soap that smelled the way she wanted it to. While she appreciated Josephine’s thoughtfulness in providing her with lavender-scented soap, she wasn’t a fan of lavender. 

She finished up her observations for the day - all written in the shorthand she’d developed as a way of taking notes in class, she knew no one else but her would be able to understand what she wrote - just as Helena returned, smelling of soap, her hair damp and loose. “Ahhh,” she sighed. “The water was amazing! There’s a little waterfall too, if you stand under it, it does wonderful things for aching muscles…” she made a happy little sound. “Would you mind if took back my offer of guard duty? I really, really want a nap,” Helena gave her a puppy-dog-eyes look.

“Fine,” Samarra shook her head, grinning. “There’s still light out, and we’re pretty close to camp, I think I’ll be fine.” She gathered her dirty clothes and ventured out towards the pond. She was startled and taken aback to find Solas in the water. It appeared as though he had the same ideas as she did, for his clothes were gathered in a neat pile on one of the many smooth rocks that were scattered through the edges of the water.

That wasn’t what disconcerted her, though. It was the fact that he was in nothing but his smalls.

She cleared her throat, trying not to stare at the lines and angles of his body. “I’ll come back later,” she said as he turned to face her. It was all she could do to not blush.

Which was stupid, really, considering all the times she’d been to pool parties. Seeing a man in his underwear was not a novel sight. And she wasn’t some delicate little maiden. Really, she had no business being so flustered at the sight. 

It appeared he had no qualms about her seeing him in his state. She wondered if that had something to do with him being an elf. _There’s no way you can ask him that without sounding grossly racist. What are you going to say? Hey, are you totes chill with walking around buck nekkid because you’re an elf?_

Yeah, no.

“You are not disturbing me,” he said calmly. “You are welcome to partake in your ablutions.” _Unless being around me bothers you_ , his eyes seemed to say.

Well, fuck. If she left, she’d look really silly, and possibly racist. 

Really, it wasn’t like she was going to do anything forbidden. She just wanted to have a bathe, for heaven’s sake! It wasn’t some sort of intricate arcane ritual. And the pond was big enough for her to avoid him, and vice versa.

_Stop being such an idiot_ , she told herself sternly. Wading into the pleasantly cool water, she dumped her clothes on a suitable flat rock, and began to peel off her tunic and breeches, leaving her breastband and underwear on. She washed every article of clothing methodically, getting it as clean as possible, then spread them out to dry. She’d use her magic to dry them completely, but the sun would speed up the process.

She gathered up her bar of soap and moved into deeper waters, heading for the waterfall, only to find it occupied by the elven apostate. His eyes were closed, and his head was lifted up so that the water flowed over his face, down his neck, his chest, towards his waist, which was covered up by the water of the pond.

The sight was... mesmerizing. Taut, chiseled, well-defined muscles rippled under smooth, light golden skin. Droplets of water clung to his body, the sunlight causing them to gleam like crystals. The man had a six-pack that would have been worshipped as a deity in itself, were she on earth. It struck her then, how much work he must have to put in, to make himself seem docile and non-threatening. Because from where she stood, he was _anything_ but. He looked as though he could break bones with a mere lift of his finger. Everything about his form resonated with power and strength and beauty. He really _was_ a stunning specimen of sheer magnificence.

If he ever came to blows with the Iron Bull, she knew who she’d be betting on.

Aware that she was now close to lecherously staring, she moved away, giving him privacy, and began soaping herself up. She dunked her hair beneath the water, and worked up a lather, trying to get all the dirt and sweat and oils out, scrubbing vigorously at her roots and massaging her scalp. By the time she had finished washing her hair, Solas had was nowhere to be seen.

_Woohoo! Waterfall massage time, here I come_. She made her way to the falls, letting out a blissful sigh as the water kneaded her sore muscles. It was getting cold, though, and she found herself shivering slightly. Mulling over the matter, she drew a heating rune onto her skin, which worked wonders - the water that hit her skin now felt very warm. She could see steam rising up lazily from her skin, a hazy, misty barrier that shielded her from prying eyes.

_Fuck it. Let’s live a little_. She pulled off her breastband and smalls, and enjoyed the thrilling, intoxicating, exhilarating feeling of being completely naked in a place where she could be seen. _I guess this is why exhibitionists like having public sex. It’s the whole adrenaline/taboo thing._ She stayed there under the water till her fingers pruned, and when the rune slowly started to fade she returned to the shore. She was in the middle of drying herself when the rustle of bushes caused her to whirl around. Solas stood there, a knife in one hand, and a bag in the other, and for a moment she thought he was going to murder her. Then she saw that the bag was filled with blood lotus, and relaxed imperceptibly. Only to tense and scramble for her clothes seconds later when she realized she was _totally naked_. She covered herself with a tunic hurriedly. “What are you doing, spying on me?” she threw at him, angrily.

He appeared equally shaken. “ _Ir abelas_. I did not mean to intrude. I only meant to collect herbs. The area has an abundance of blood lotus, and I wanted to take advantage to replenish my stocks.” That hadn't stopped him from raking his eyes over her naked form, though. His eyes filled with a dark hunger that flustered her.

“Yeah, well, you can at least turn your back and let me put my clothes on,” she replied, flustered. He nodded and moved away, giving her some privacy. She pulled her clothes on in record time. “I’m done,” she called out, and hurriedly walked back to camp, laundry in hand. She folded her clothes and packed them away, her cheeks still pink from embarrassment. By the time she joined the others, however, she’d regained her composure, and sat down next to one of the scouts, carefully avoiding looking at Solas. She drew the man into conversation, learning that his name was Bernard, and that he used to work for horsemaster Dennet before he joined the Inquisition. 

“Too many people just sit around and whine and complain,” Bernard said. “I didn’t want to be one of them. I wanted to do what was right. It helped that I know the Hinterlands as well as Scout Harding. Matter of fact, it was Harding who recommended me to the spymaster.”

“You’re a good man, Bernard,” she said.

He flushed a little. “No, _ser_. Just someone who’s trying to do the right thing.”

“You said you worked for Dennet. Did you take care of his horses?” As it turned out, Bernard knew quite a bit about horses, and they chatted away, discussing the various merits and demerits of each breed. Rather, she listened as he spoke, but she found it enjoyable. He complimented Isaline, telling her that Dennet’s Forders were loyal, brave and intelligent.

They met up with the returning scouting party to get more information on Blackwall, and plotted their course for the next day. She was pleased to know that he’d been last seen at a location twenty minutes away from where they were, thinking that it would be a quick matter to meet up with the man, recruit him, then return to Haven.

She was a little tired of moving around so much. And she really wanted to get back to the books she’d bought at Val Royeaux…

Of course, nothing was ever quite so simple, and Helena decided she wanted to visit the mages before they returned to Haven, citing that they were already in the Hinterlands anyway, and Redcliffe was only a half a day’s ride from their location. Cassandra had agreed with her, but she and Varric had groaned in dismay, displeased in the change in plans. 

Still, it meant that she’d get her first glimpse of Dorian, and the thought mollified her.

They rode out early the next morning, having sent a raven to the Inquisition scouts at Redcliffe, telling them to expect Helena and her companions. Another message was sent to Leliana, to keep her abreast of their change in travel plans.

Blackwall was easy enough to spot, a big, bear-like bulk of a man with a long, bushy beard. He appeared to be training several scared-looking young men - Samarra guessed they were barely out of their teens - and was sternly talking to them.

“... carry your shields,” they heard his deep, gruff voice. “You’re not hiding, you’re holding. Otherwise, it’s useless.”

Helena called out. “Blackwall? Warden Blackwall?”

_Might as well let this one play out on its own. Unless Blackwall fails to anticipate the bandit attack, I guess. But it’s pretty straightforward. And I can’t really divulge much about the Grey Wardens in any case, it’s not yet time._

“You’re not-” He raised his sword and walked towards Helena menacingly, a frown on his face.

Samarra took a step forward, and she felt Solas discreetly cast a barrier over the Herald from where he stood. She saw Cassandra flex her fingers, as though itching to grip her weapon.

Blackwall looked like a middle age man, which surprised her. She doubted he was as old as he looked. He even looked older than Solas! He had a heavy brow, and his eyes were deep-set and heavy, filled with a kind of burden he’d long resigned himself to carrying. His face, his voice, his demeanor all pointed towards a somber nature. He had a very prominent widow’s peak, and his beard… well. She supposed the man was prone to a small amount of vanity, because it was obvious from how smooth and neat it was that it was well-taken care of. Which could not be said about the rest of him, alas. His clothes looked neat, if threadbare; his armor was in decent condition, but had clearly been repaired several times.

Maybe if the man shaved the beard off, and got his hair trimmed, he’d look much better, she mused. He was the only character in the game she hadn’t romanced, unable to get past his appearance. Which was probably vain of her, but his character hadn’t appealed to her either. Most of her characters had been spirited in varying degrees, and his somber, gruff nature didn’t appeal to her.

_Maybe he’ll be different in person. And maybe I can get him to do something about that beard. How does he get it to point in two different directions, anyhow? They look like upside-down devil horns! Why not just shave it off? Oh wait a minute now, hang on. He’s on the run, right? He’s still wanted for his crime. Makes sense that he has a beard. Because it’s a disguise! Yeah, that’s probably it. He chooses to look the way he does because it won’t draw attention to him._

“How do you know my name?” Blackwall demanded. “Who sent you?”

Samarra subtly braced herself, knowing this was when the bandits would begin their attack. Sure enough, she heard the faint whistle of an arrow as it cut through the air, and instantly Blackwall raised his shield. The arrow landed on the shield with a dull _thunk_. Everyone instantly sprung to full alert; Solas cast a barrier around them, Cassandra pulled out her sword, and Varric loaded Bianca up. She readied her bow, attaching an arrow to it, her eyes searching for the archer she knew lurked amidst the trees.

She found him. Well, them. There were three archers, and a lot more warriors.

She dispatched the first one, rolling out of the way, and barely missing an arrow aimed at her. Rearming her bow, she managed to take out a second one, and the third fell prey to one of Varric’s bolts moments later.

“That’s it!” she heard Blackwall declare to Helena. “Help or get out! We’re dealing with these idiots first.”

Ten very angry-looking bandits rushed towards them. _Ruh-roh. I think I messed up. Maybe I should have let the others know to expect a bandit attack?_

She fell back with Solas and Varric, letting Blackwall, Helena and Cassandra - and the three ‘recruits’ - deal with the charging men directly. She cast her chain lightning, but the men weren’t wearing metal armor, and so it only hit two of them. She quickly cast a barrier over the young boys, not wanting them to get seriously injured, and resumed peppering the attacking outlaws with her arrows.

She had to admit, Blackwall was a force to be reckoned with. She’d always favored him for her tank, even if she found his company somewhat dreary. And she could see why. There were traces of the Champion in him, a solid, unmoveable, unshakeable force that did not budge or flinch at the sight of a blade, at the thought of pain. She wondered what kind of Captain he had been, before giving that terrible, fateful order. 

The raiders were soon dealt with, and save for several minor cuts among the lot of them, there was little damage done. The bandits had clearly not expected high resistance, having been used to attacking unarmed - and untrained - civilians. She and Solas went around healing everyone’s wounds, ignoring the fearful objections of the young boys. 

Blackwall walked over to one of the dead men. Staring at the man’s face for several moments, he muttered beneath his breath. “Sorry bastards.” He returned to where the young men uncertainly stood. “Good work, conscripts,” he gruffly praised. “Even if this shouldn’t have happened. They could’ve…” he cut himself off. “Well. Thieves are made, not born,” he said, wisdom gained through experience coating his words. “Take back what they stole. Go back to your families. You saved yourselves.” The young men gratefully thanked him, and left immediately, not wanting to linger in case they were attacked again.

_Whatever he was, he is a just man_. Just that little interaction proved to her that there was something in him worth redeeming. Yes, he was a liar, and what he had done in his past was terrible, but having met the Orlesians - and their awful, cruel ways - she had to admit to herself she felt inclined to forgive him.

But she wouldn’t jump to conclusions. Not yet. He still needed to prove himself in her eyes.

“You’re no farmer,” Blackwall addressed Helena. “Why do you know my name? Who are you?”

“I know your name because I’m an agent of the Inquisition,” Helena smoothly said. “I’m investigating whether the disappearance of the Wardens has anything to do with the murder of the Divine.”

“Maker’s balls!” he spluttered. He was utterly taken aback. “The Wardens? And the Divine? That can’t be! No, you’re asking, so you don’t really know.” He mumbled, almost to himself. 

He went on to explain that he hadn’t been aware of their disappearance, making a wry observation about how Wardens tended to vanish in the absence of a Blight. He explained that he had been on the road, recruiting for the Wardens.

“But one thing I’ll tell you,” he asserted confidently. “No warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn’t political.”

_Oh you poor, misinformed man. Oh lordy. You are REALLY not going to enjoy Adamant. How the heck did I fall for all his ‘Warden knowledge’ the first playthrough, anyway? Well, technically I did suspect something. I did know more than he did, thanks to Origins._

“I’m not here to accuse,” Helena assured him. “Not yet. I just need information. I’ve only found you. Where are the rest?”

“I haven’t seen any Wardens for months. I travel alone. Perhaps they returned to our stronghold at Weisshaupt. That’s in the Anderfels, a long way north.” _Man, it sounds as though he’s repeating a sales pitch or something._

“Why haven’t you gone missing like the rest of them?” Cassandra accused. 

“Well, maybe I was going to.” His lips quirked the slightest bit. “Or maybe there’s a new directive, but a runner got lost or something.” _Really, Blackwall? That’s the best you can do? ‘A runner might have gotten lost?’ Seriously, how is everyone falling for this?_

“Well, thank you, Warden Blackwall,” Helena said politely. “But now where does this leave us?” the brunette sighed. 

Helena began walking towards her mount, signalling to them to do so as well. As she walked away, Blackwall called out. “Inquisition… agent, did you say? Hold a moment.”

“Actually, Beardy, you’re talking to the woman who closed the Breach,” Varric stated. “Some call her the Herald of Andraste, we just call her Helena.”

“Great, thanks for that introduction, Varric,” Helena said sarcastically.

Blackwall walked towards them - well, stomped was a more accurate word, she supposed. “The Divine is dead, and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking the Wardens are absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved. If you’re trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me.”

Helena asked him what he could offer the Inquisition - it seemed to be a standard question by now - and he told her about the Warden treaties, and offered his sword.

“The Inquisition needs all the support it can get, but what can one Grey Warden do?” Helena asked hesitantly.

_Ooooooohhhhh this gon be gooooood. Wait for it, wait for it…_

“Save the fucking **world** , if pressed,” he declared with unshakeable confidence and resolve.

_Ooohh yeah. Now that’s what I’m talking about. Damn right, son!_

Helena grinned. “Warden Blackwall, welcome to the Inquisition,” she said, holding her hand out. 

Blackwall shook it. “Good. We both need to know what’s going on. This Warden walks with the Inquisition.”

They all introduced themselves - she noticed that Blackwall’s eyes lingered uneasily on her form as Varric casually spoke about her visions - and Helena directed him towards the nearest Inquisition camp, telling him he to make his way to Haven. She also hastily penned out a note for him to hand to the scouts, directing them to help the Warden, and to alert Leliana of his recruitment.

“We’ll talk more once we return from Redcliffe village,” the Herald promised him, and they took their leave, riding towards their meeting with the mages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess if Samarra's going to get all stare-y with Solas, it's only fair he returns the favor, right? Heh.
> 
> Blackwall would look so much better if it wasn't for that crazy two-pronged beard of his. How the heck does it grow that way, anyway?


	31. Apparently Time Warps Make Apostates Testy, As Do Injured Women

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tackling the rift outside Redcliffe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

Samarra hardly said a word as they rode towards Redcliffe; she was too busy taking in the view of the Hinterlands. While she’d seen a little bit, it had been limited to the Crossroads and its surrounding areas. Now that the apostate rebels and the templars had been dealt with, the region was quieter, felt safer. Granted, there were reports of lingering bandit activity, but it was now a rare instance instead of being commonplace.

She sighed to herself. _It’s so beautiful, but it’s seen so much needless bloodshed._ Too many ruins of huts, their hollow shells blackened and charred. Too many farms abandoned, the crops planted in them dried and dead. 

There was still much work to do to restore the area and help its people recover, she realized.

She was definitely in love with the Hinterlands. It was such a beautiful place, and… it reminded her so much of home. She thought back to the time she visited Yosemite, all hills and flat valleys, streams and lush vegetation. A lump formed in her throat, she was homesick. She missed her friends, just hanging out with them, their regular friday night poker games with the good beer and the bad jokes. _Do they miss me? Do they think of me at all? Or have they just moved on with their lives, without me, as I have?_

_They’ve probably moved on._ Her inner, usually argumentative voice was unusually gentle. _It would be wrong to expect them to put their lives on hold for you._

_I know. I just… wish I knew that someone missed me, that they… were sad I was no longer in their lives._

_It’s only natural. We all want to feel special, to feel like we matter. If it’s any consolation, I’m sure they miss you._

_I guess so._

She sighed, deep and sad. Varric overheard her. “You okay there, Crimson?” he pulled up close to her, and she was grateful for his discretion.

“Yeah. I was just thinking about… my mentor, and how I’m all alone. I don’t have family or friends waiting to hear from me, to hear about me, wondering if I’m safe or not. It’s… kind of a downer.” It was, and her voice, unbeknownst to her, sounded soft, sad and vulnerable.

The dwarf seemed rather taken aback by her confession, and he faltered, unsure how to deal with the emotional nature of it. “Ahhh, you got us, Crimson,” he jovially declared, trying to move the conversation onto lighter ground. “I’m sure we’d all feel bad if something happened to you. Especially me. If you’re gone, who am I going to consult about making bets?”

She smiled, although it didn’t reach her eyes. “Wow, real nice, Varric,” she tried to joke.

“Yeah, well,” he awkwardly reached out and patted her arm. “Don’t brood on it, okay?”

She nodded. They rode together in silence for several minutes, before Varric spoke up. “Hey, Crimson, how about you sing for us again? It’s been a while.”

Helena eagerly agreed. “Oh yes! Please! You have such a lovely voice.”

Samarra laughed. “Sure, why not.” She wracked her brain for a suitable song. She wanted a cheery one.

_I used to bite my tongue and hold my breath,_  
_Scared to rock the boat and make a mess,_  
_So I sit quietly, agree politely._  
_I guess that I forgot I had a choice,_  
_I let you push me past the breaking point,_  
_I stood for nothing, so I fell for everything._

_You held me down, but I got up,_  
_Already brushing off the dust;_  
_You hear my voice, you hear that sound,_  
_Like thunder, gonna shake the ground._  
_You held me down, but I got up,_  
_Get ready ‘cause I’ve had enough,_  
_I see it all, I see it now,_

_I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter,_  
_Dancing through the fire,_  
_‘Cause I am a champion, and you’re gonna hear me roar,_  
_Louder, louder than a lion,_  
_‘Cause I am a champion, and you’re gonna hear me roar._

_Now I’m floating like a butterfly,_  
_Stinging like a bee, I earned my stripes,_  
_I went from zero,_  
_To my own hero._

_You held me down, but I got up,_  
_Already brushing off the dust;_  
_You hear my voice, you hear that sound,_  
_Like thunder, gonna shake the ground._  
_You held me down, but I got up,_  
_Get ready ‘cause I’ve had enough,_  
_I see it all, I see it now,_

_I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter,_  
_Dancing through the fire,_  
_‘Cause I am a champion, and you’re gonna hear me roar,_  
_Louder, louder than a lion,_  
_‘Cause I am a champion, and you’re gonna hear me roar._

She was grinning as she ended the last note, the song having raised her mood. She wished she could have had her violin with her; it would have at least contributed to some melody. It was strange to have the song’s tune play in her head, but not in the air, and she wondered if there was a way to project the music from her head into her surroundings.

“You have to teach me that song!” Helena exclaimed. “It’s so cheerful. Makes me feel better.”

“I will,” she promised. 

“The song had some interesting lyrics,” Solas commented, his voice meant for her ears alone. 

“Oh?” she asked disinterestedly. _Who wants to analyze song lyrics anyway? Oh wait, mr-I’ll-suss-out-your-secrets-because-I-like-puzzles, that’s who. Can’t a girl just sing without having to worry about a eggheaded elven god lurking about, ready to pounce?_

“Floating like a butterfly? Stinging like a bee?” he shook his head. “Those do not seem like the traits of a fighter. I do not think a bee is the best comparison to a warrior.”

“Solas, why can’t you just say, ‘you sang well,’ or ‘that was a good song’? Why do you have to analyze everything? Or is it just everything pertaining to me? Am I some sort of puzzle, some sort of mystery to you?” she complained.

“Yes,” he stated so bluntly she stared at him, speechless.

“Well… well stop it. I don’t like it.” she stammered.

“I will, if you would tell me more about yourself,” he countered with a smile.

She mulled over his statement. “A fair trade then,” she said at last. “You can ask me a question, if you’re willing to answer it yourself. And you cannot lie. And I reserve the right to reject a question I do not like.”

He gazed back at her, his eyes focused, penetrating and intense. She refused to look away. She had everything to hide, but so did he. He would not intimidate her.

“Very well,” he conceded. “I accept those terms.”

“Great,” she huffed.

“I have a question,” he immediately followed up, a laugh in his eye. “Are you musically oriented?”

“You’ll have to be a little bit clearer than that. That’s a pretty vague question.”

“Were you ever taught how to sing? Your voice is beautiful, but seems to have been shined around the edges.”

“You can tell someone’s voice has been polished?” she asked, incredulously

“It is usually in the high notes,” he pointed out. “Raw talent without training can hit the high notes, but there is usually a quaver as they do so. You do not appear to suffer from that.”

“Well then, you’ve sussed it out. Yes, I was taught. What about you?” she asked. “Are you musically oriented?”

“Was that not supposed to be a vague question?” he grinned.

“Hey, I didn’t come up with it,” she shrugged.

“I fear that I do not have the talent you do. I do not sing, at all.”

“Why not?” she asked inquiringly. “You certainly have good voice.” _Like rich, thick, syrup. It’s lovely and soothing and beautifully sonorous to hear._

_That’s a lot of positive adjectives for someone you’re trying to remain neutral with._

_Look, we both know his voice is yummy, okay? Why did you think I romanced him all that many times? And spent all that time in the rotunda clicking buttons just to get him to say ‘vhenan’ in that voice of his?_

_You’re stupidly obsessed with him, you cow. You absolute, utterly ridiculous cow. How are you doing to remain neutral when you’re swooning over him? You might as well just walk up to him and say, ‘hey yo Solas I know who you are, okay, now that that’s out of the way, wanna bang?’_

_I’m NOT going to sleep with Solas._

_HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA okay that was the funniest thing I’ve ever heard in my life, and I live in your head, so that’s saying something._

_I am not!!! Wanna bet?_

_Yeah, I’ll take that bet. I bet you’ll even let him spank you, you utter cow. HA SEE YOU’RE THINKING OF IT NOW, I win!_

_DAMMIT, stop putting those things in my head, okay? We’re both going to be professional. I’m going to be in charge of myself, and you’re going to make sure I don’t do something stupid. We’ll be an awesome team._

_I’m sorry, what did you say? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of your libido bouncing around your brain!_

_You’re a real dick, you know that?_

_I can’t be a dick. You’re female._

_Jerk._

“What?” she asked Solas irritably when she caught him staring at her.

“Nothing,” he responded calmly. “You seemed rather distracted. I asked you if you were well. You did not appear to hear me.”

“Oh.” she gave him an apologetic look. “Sorry about that. What were you saying?”

“I said that I have sung, on occasion, but always for my own pleasure.”

“It’s the best reason to sing,” she said. “Sure, some people like to sing for an audience, and I don’t mind doing that sometimes, but always only if I feel like singing.”

“Surely, with the training you received, you could have chosen to follow the path of a minstrel. Perhaps become a bard; with your intelligence and wit, it would have been easy enough to accomplish.” he inquired smoothly.

She shrugged. “I like what I do. Music is a passionate hobby, but I was always a healer first and foremost.”

“Do you play an instrument, then?”

“Isn’t it something almost everyone does?” she answered. It was true. Almost everyone in Haven seemed to have an instrument of some kind, mostly lutes, but she’d seen some with flutes, and even a harp or two. She’d heard from Maryden about fiddler minstrels, and she was dying to meet one. She wanted to see a fiddle, first hand. Oh, sure, she’d thought about asking Josephine for one, but it just seemed rather frivolous, given her efforts would be more useful elsewhere.

She’d seen the lute in Solas’ hut, and knew he played the instrument. _I wonder what else he plays. How much do you know, old wolf? How did you spend your time in your Elvhenan? What wondrous arts and culture have you seen, taken in, enjoyed?_

_Would you ever show them to me?_

“What do you play?” he asked.

She hesitated. She knew there was technically no difference between a fiddle and a violin, but she didn’t fiddle - so she knew a few country songs, but she knew more of the old classics. _Do they even have violins here? Or is it just a fiddle? Well, I’m not sure if they play country songs in this place. So I guess I’ll just have to stick with calling it a fiddle._

“The fiddle,” she said shortly.

He quirked his brows. “That seems like an uncommon instrument to learn, especially in a village.”

“Don’t you know, Solas,” she teased. “Everything about me is uncommon.” She gave him a bright smile. “Your turn to answer that, I believe.”

“I have some ability with a lute - I do not have your talent,” he replied. “It is a useful thing to keep oneself occupied, especially when one is on the road as often as I have been.”

Somehow, she found it hard to picture Solas strumming away on a lute as he wandered through the woods. It just seemed… silly. She couldn’t picture him sitting by a fire he’d created, strumming the strings of the instrument lazily as he gazed at the shadows the light created as it danced with the darkness… _You just pictured it, dumbass_. 

_Yeah, but it doesn’t feel right, does it? It feels forced. It’s like… it’s not natural._

_I bet he played back in the day, though. Strumming away in his palatial chambers in his spare time…_

_When would he have had the time to do that? Wasn’t he at war?_

_Not always, though._

She was spared having to give a reply when Helena stopped by an outpost manned by several exhausted and frightened-looking soldiers. “How can we get to Redcliffe?” the Herald asked politely.

“No one’s allowed in or out of the village. The gates are closed till the rift outside’s been taken care of,” the woman in charge harshly stated.

“Great, just what we need, more demons,” Varric muttered.

“Well, looks like we have to take care of it. Come on, let’s get it done!” Helena sighed.

As they rode towards the Redcliffe Village gates, the sergeant shouted out a warning after them. “Turn back! Turn back! You’ll get yourselves killed!”

“She doesn’t know us very well, does she?” Samarra joked, making Varric chuckle. Cassandra, however, did not find it funny. “It is not wise to tempt fate,” she said.

“Lighten up, Cass,” she called out cheerily. “We all have to die someday.”

If Samarra had turned her head then, she would have noticed the elven apostate’s jaw clench tightly at her casual statement.

“That does not mean you can casually joke about it,” the Seeker dryly stated. “It is best to always be careful.”

“You’re right, and I’m sorry,” she admitted.

As they approached the gates, there was a shift in the atmosphere. Samarra could sense it, vaguely at first, but it grew stronger the closer they got. It was a strange feeling, like she was being spun very rapidly in circles while moving through mud. It made her feel sick and nauseous, and she needed to stop.

“Stop!” she gasped out. “Please.”

Helena immediately called a halt, and rode up to her. But Samarra had already dismounted, landing awkwardly on her ankle in her haste. She didn’t notice the pain as she stumbled towards some shrubs and threw up. She could feel Helena besides her, concerned. “Are you okay?” the brunette asked. “What’s wrong?”

“The air,” she battled a wave of nausea, “it feels… strange. Weird. There is magic at work here.”

“Solas, is this true?” Cassandra demanded.

“Yes,” he acknowledged. “I can sense some strange and unfamiliar magic in the area. We should be wary.”

“But why is it affecting Samarra so badly, and not you? Helena asked, puzzled. “You’re both mages.”

“That is curious indeed,” Solas admitted. “I cannot say. It could have something to do with the markings on her arm.”

Samarra shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.” She rinsed her mouth out with water, before gratefully accepting the dried ginger-and-lemon-rind pellet from Solas. Popping it onto her mouth, she moved towards Isaline, only to collapse as her ankle gave way. “Shit! Crapfucking son of a dick hating druffalo!” she cursed.

Varric and Helena burst into laughter when they heard the creative curse. Even Cassandra had a shadow of a smile on her usually stoic face. Solas said nothing as he hunched down and healed her foot. 

“Thanks,” she muttered somewhat ungratefully, rotating her foot gingerly, testing it.

“Maybe I should stop calling you Crimson and start calling you Clumsy,” the dwarf joked. She directed a death-glare at him. “Do that, and I will make you _very_ sorry,” she threatened. Varric only laughed harder.

They tethered their horses to a nearby tree, having decided it would be safer to make the remainder of the journey on foot. Though no one explicitly stated it, Samarra knew it was for her benefit, and her mood soured. _Great, they think I’m sort of baby. Which, fine, in some things I am, but come on! This is legit! They don’t know about the time warping nature of the rift. And how come Solas isn’t suffering the same way? It’s not even fair!! Why should I be the one puking my guts out? If anyone should be puking, it should be him. He’s making me look silly and weak. Without even trying! How is that fair? Ugh. Look at Cassandra, giving me that look. OH HEY CASS LET’S SEE WHO’S LAUGHING WHEN WE HIT UP THAT RIFT, MMKAY? What does she think? That my hobby is to throw up into some random bushes? Stupid Solas. That stupid egg and his stupid orb and his stupid idea of giving it to that stupid magister and WHOEVER BROUGHT ME TO THEDAS I HOPE YOU’RE FINDING MY DISCOMFORT AMUSING because I sure as hell am not._

She walked stiffly, trying to focus on the flavor of ginger on her tongue to calm the nausea that roiled within her.

“There!” Helena called out, pointing at the shimmering green-gold crack that hung in the air.

“Something does not feel right,” Solas noted uneasily. “Do you feel it?” he turned towards her.

She nodded. “It is… very unpleasant. Makes my skin crawl, it feels so wrong.”

“Indeed.” Solas turned back to Helena. “We should proceed with utmost caution.”

They moved slowly towards the rift. Adrenaline coursed through Samarra’s veins. She had tackled demons before, but always from a distance. From what she remembered, the demons in this particular rift were all terror demons - and she hated the bastards with a passion.

As Varric and Samarra took up strategic vantage points on either side of the rift, Helena approached the rift. Her Anchor caught the trails of green, and instantly forced the tear open wider. Immediately, they were besieged by demons. Samarra spotted three terror demons and two rage demons. She froze one of the rage demons in place, Solas tackling the other, then began firing her arrows at the terror demons. The soft hiss of her arrows flying through the air was reassuring. She kept a careful eye on the area in front of her, trying to note the regions where time distorted. Helena was in the middle of battling one of the terror demons that seemed to be stuck in a negative-time warp zone - causing the demon’s attacks to be significantly slowed - while Cassandra battled a second. She moved with inhuman speed, indicating that the Seeker was located in a positive-time warp zone. 

She scanned the battlefield. That was two terrors occupied. Solas and Varric had their hands full with the rage demons… _that’s four demons. There were five. Where is the last terror?_

There was an inhumanly grotesque, shrill, screeching cry that seemed to freeze her bones and paralyze her with a deep, unknown fear. The terror demon jumped up in front of her, knocking her back several feet. She could only watch as it moved towards her, terrified, and frozen with shock.

“Samarra!” Solas shouted at her, and it brought her back to her wits. She rolled out of the way as its claws reached out to strike her. Abandoning her bow, she pulled out the dirks Leliana had given her from their sheaths. Taking a deep breath in - and ignoring every cell that screamed at her to run away in self-preservation - she instead ran _towards_ the creature, letting out a loud, angry yell. “You absolute fucker!” she screamed, as she swiped at the creature with her blades. The sharp edges caught the terror’s skin, and it spewed black ichor all over her. She moved as her mentors had taught her, with grace and agility, performing with relative ease moves she’d practiced several times in the Fade but never out on the field.

It seemed as though she was not the only one with a view to self preservation. The terror, close to death, became desperate, and let out another piercing shriek. In the moments when she was stunned by it, it struck out at her wildly, its talons finding purchase in the only part of her that was exposed - her neck. Instantly, blood began to gush out, pouring through the wounds and down her chest, seeping into and under her armor. The bright, metallic tang of the substance filled the air.

It should have hurt like a motherfucker. But Samarra was so full of rage and adrenaline she barely noticed it. Her survival instincts kicked in and patched the wound up automatically in a rudimentary fashion as she resumed her attacks against the demon, finally letting out a hiss of victory as her daggers sank deep into the creature’s flesh, and it exploded with a harsh cry.

She sank to the ground, watching mutely as Helena worked to seal the rift. She could see the Anchor sewing up the edges of the rift, and with a small flash of light - and magic - it sealed. She could see the little bubbles of energy that had emanated from the rift hover in the air, They whizzed around for several moments, as though lost, before rushing towards Solas. 

He didn’t flinch, or react the slightest as the little energy packets slammed into him.

Interesting. It must have happened at the rifts they closed on her first day in Thedas too, but she had been unable to see it then. Probably because she hadn’t come into her magic yet.

She warily eyed the few that circled her. Only for a few seconds later, they rushed into her, and she gave the slightest of gasps as the mana, the magic _burst_ within her. Which really was a testament to how well her rogue-slash-spy training was going - the feeling was euphoric, it felt like she had a sugar rush and caffeine buzz, and it made her want to dance around.

Solas, however, with his sensitive hearing heard her. He moved towards her, his eyes darkening with concern as they caught sight of the claw marks on her neck. “It’s fine,” she tried to brush it off, but her voice seemed to have vanished. _Did the fucker take out my larynx?_ She had a sudden fear of a torn, mutilated voice box. _If he did, I swear I’ll hunt that bastard down in the Fade and kill him all over again._ She tried to clear her throat, but it was incredibly painful, and she gave a silent yelp of pain.

“Stop that!” he all but snarled at her. Squatting by her side, he placed his fingers over the wound, ignoring the angry hiss she gave. She could feel his magic probing the injury, and the damage it had done, both superficially and to the deeper tissues. From his investigation, she was relieved to discover that her larynx was undamaged. Her trachea and oesophagus had both been damaged, and while her spontaneous healing had repaired them, the surrounding muscles and connective tissue were still damaged. The resultant swelling had pressed against her larynx, which was why she was unable to talk.

He looked at her, as though asking for permission. While she was perfectly capable of healing herself - even without the extra boost of energy she’d received - for some strange reason, it felt as though it was important to him.

_What a fanciful notion. Next you’ll be thinking he’s going to pluck flowers for you. Or play his lute for you. Does this man seem like the sort who would do anything without reason? Every move he makes is calculated. Stop being such a sappy romantic. Grow some goddamn ovaries, for heaven’s sake! Or at least use the ones you have!_

She batted his hand away lightly, wrapping her hand around her neck, and sending pulses of magic through her skin. It hurt like a bitch, feeling her torn muscles repair themselves, and her connective tissue re-attach to bone and muscle. When everything felt okay, she tentatively tried to clear her throat, a smile breaking out on her face as she noted the distinct lack of pain.

“Okay, that was not fun, and I don’t want to ever experience that again,” she said, trying to break the tension. Solas did not seem happy, and she didn’t want to wonder why. “Thank you for being concerned,” she added awkwardly, then got to her feet. She sheathed her daggers, then moved around the field, picking up first her bow, then her discharged arrows.

“Did anyone find this rift really weird?” she asked. Helena hesitantly nodded. “I thought I was going crazy. But the demon I fought… it attacked very, very slowly. That can’t be, can it?” she asked.

“No, you’re right,” Samarra said. “I could see it. Cassandra moved so fast, I could barely make out any of her movements. I think there are time warps in this area. That’s the strange magic in the air.”

Solas scoffed. “Do you mean time magic? Altering time is a feat even magic cannot accomplish,” he scoffed. “If you spent more time actually being aware of your immediate surroundings, instead of allowing your attention to wander to the rest of us, you would be better able to actually defend yourself. Your distraction makes you a liability.”

She stared at him angrily. “First of all, I was aware of what was going on. In case you missed it, I was busy attacking the demons! I’m perfectly capable of defending myself. You’ll note that no one had to come to my ‘rescue’. Second, I know what I saw. I don’t know if time magic is impossible or not, but I can’t deny what I saw with my own eyes. And no, it wasn’t some kind of ‘illusion’, and no, I’m not crazy.”

“You claim to be capable of defending yourself, yet you were the only one who was injured,” he pointed out harshly.

“What??! Samarra, you’re injured? Where?” Helena burst out, concerned.

Samarra ignored Helena. “Maybe so, but I healed myself, didn’t I? I didn’t need your help, nor anyone else’s. What is your problem? I didn’t ask for your concern, or your help, or _anything_ really. I fought the demon, by myself. So I got hurt. It’s not the first time, and it’s not going to be the last. It doesn’t mean I need someone to protect me. I’m sure you’ve been injured before, and I’m positive you’ll be injured again. Do you see me bitching about how you’re a liability? What the fuck is your problem?” she demanded.

The arrival of the sergeant and her men put a halt to their argument. “You closed the rift!” she exclaimed in relieved gratitude. “Maker have mercy. It’s over. Open the gates!” she commanded.

“Yes, _ser_!” an answering call came from the other side of the gates. The hefty steel grate lifted slowly, and soon the path to Redcliffe Village was made accessible to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am _totally_ guilty of constantly getting Solas to talk to my Inquisitor in the rotunda just to hear him say 'vhenan' and 'my heart' in that _glorious_ voice of his #noshamewhatsoever
> 
> The song in the chapter is Roar by Katy Perry. Modified slightly, of course.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Can I just say I really, really appreciate all your comments and kudos? They always put a smile on my face! So thank you for all of the incredibly nice things you say, it's so very appreciated <3
> 
> * * *


	32. Tevinter Magisters Aren't Good For Ferelden Villages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Redcliffe discoveries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

As they walked past the gates into the village, they were met by a very troubled looking scout. 

_Uh-oh. Here we go. You think time magic isn’t real, egg? You’re just about to find out you’re so, so wrong. I hope you have a nice big slice of humble pie all warmed up and ready to go, because you bet your ass I’m going to make you eat every single bit of it._

“We’ve spread word the Inquisition was coming,” the man said. “But you should know that no one here was expecting us.”

“No one? Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Helena asked, bewildered. 

The scout held his hands out helplessly. “If she was, she hasn’t told anyone,” he said hesitantly. “We’ve arranged use of the tavern for negotiations.”

They all looked at each other. Everyone but Samarra was completely confused. Samarra wondered how much time they had before the magister’s slave showed up. Right on cue, a nervous-looking elf ran up to them. The elf had some sort of brand on his upper arm, probably meant to mark him as a slave. She saw Solas frown as his eyes caught sight of the mark, and she wasn’t thrilled either.

_What the fuck is wrong with people. How twisted and cruel do you have to be to treat other people like cattle? Maybe Alexius isn’t such a good guy after all._

_Well, he’s pretty much the cause of the time magic and the fact that Fiona and the other mages are basically indentured to him, so no shit Sherlock, he’s not a nice guy._

_He kind of did it all to save his son, though…_

_Yeah, save his son by sacrificing a hundred other lives. The man’s crazy, insane._

_Maybe you’re right. Let’s keep our ears to the ground._

_Don’t forget about the Tranquil! You need to get them out of here and back to Haven ASAP._

_Oh fuck, you’re right. Yeah, we best get them out of here._

“Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies,” the elf politely greeted them. “My master, Magister Alexius, is in charge now, but hasn’t yet arrived. He’s expected shortly. You can speak with the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime,” he said. His eyes were shuttered, and had no emotion in them. Samarra tried hard to get some sort of reading on him, but all she could detect was resignation.

“We will meet with the Grand Enchanter,” Helena said, and the elf bowed his head. “I will inform the former Grand Enchanter you wish to speak with her,” he stated, and left.

“What in Maker’s name is going on here?” Cassandra exclaimed. “Has the Grand Enchanter gone mad? Why is a Tevinter magister in charge?”

“Who gave him the right to be in charge?” Helena added. “Surely the arl would not allow a Tevinter magister to take control.”

“The veil is weaker here than in Haven,” Solas noted uneasily. “And not merely weak, but altered in a way I have not seen.”

Samarra would have let them know what was going on, had she not been in the middle of a vision. She saw Alexius arriving at Redcliffe and meeting with Fiona only to have his help rejected. The Grand Enchanter had been dismissive of the magister, claiming that she had already sided with the Inquisition. Driven out of desperation, he used his amulet to cast a spell, drawing energy from the Breach. He meant to alter time to before the Breach was created, but since his spell was fueled by the magic of the Breach, he was only able to turn back time till a week after the Breach was created. He met with Fiona once more, but even then she was hesitant to side with him, opting instead to speak with the fledgling Inquisition, having heard about the Herald’s abilities. Frustrated, the magister had sacrificed several of his slaves to cast a blood magic spell to change the Grand Enchanter’s mind, getting her to finally indenture herself and the rest of the blood mages to him.

It was what Corypheus wanted, more mages to bind to demons, so he could create his demon army.

_Oh, that fucker. That motherfucking fucked up bastard. What the fuck. What the fuck!!! The man is insane. There’s no way a logical man like him could create such chaos otherwise, right? If Dorian liked him at one point, he must have really gone totally bonkers to side with Corypheus._

_You’re assuming Dorian’s a stand up guy himself. Remember, this isn’t the game. He could be a douche, for all you know. In which case, his whole ‘oh Alexius was a really nice guy’ spiel is worth shit._

_Helena has to side with the mages. She has to. What happens to the mages… it isn’t right. It isn’t._

“What’s wrong?” she heard Helena address her, and found herself seated on a grassy patch of ground. “You went pale, and started swaying.” the brunette explained.

“I saw something,” she confessed. “Things are bad, very bad. But I can’t tell you here. We should first meet with the Grand Enchanter, find out what’s going on.” The others were taken aback at her somber tone, and even more so at her warning. Varric helped her to her feet, and they made their way towards the tavern. 

Samarra looked all around her, taking in the picturesque village. There was a roar in the air, as the stream that rushed towards Lake Calenhad turned the water wheel. She wondered what the wheel was for. No doubt it was meant to power something. Redcliffe Castle loomed in the distance, watching protectively over the little village. It was worn and weathered, but still looked stunning, the stone shining in the dappled sunlight. The villagers hustled and bustled around, eagerly gossiping about a variety of subjects. Samarra overhead more than one person talking about the Inquisition.

The waters of Lake Calenhad glistened appealingly, sunlight glinting off the surface. Seagulls and other birds circled over the lake, waiting to catch a glimpse of a hapless fish. Some resorted to stealing from the fishermen’s catches, and she could hear the aggrieved shouts they gave as they chased away the birds.

The houses here were made of wood and stone, and well maintained. The thatched roofs look like they had only recently been replaced. The village was boistrous, but felt calm and peaceful. Samarra could imagine life here, the men fishing or farming each day while the women tended to the home and children. Evenings spent with friends and neighbours, or at the tavern. It was a quiet, routine life, the kind that some would find appealing, and others monotonous.

She did like the look of the village though, charming and rustic and pretty. They stopped at the monument dedicated to the Hero of Ferelden - well, Samarra stopped, and the others followed suit. Samarra began to read the inscription.

“The Hero of Ferelden was the son of Bryce Cousland, Teryn of Highever. When Arl Randon Howe’s forces attacked Castle Cousland and murdered most of the Cousland family, the Hero escaped to safety with Grey Warden Commander Duncan, who then recruited him into the order. After defeating the Archdemon and ending the Fifth Blight, the Hero of Ferelden was wed to Queen Anora.”

“Aedan Cousland is a just and fair ruler,” Cassandra remarked with a frown. “He would not have given away Redcliffe to a Tevinter magistrate. I do not think he is aware of what is happening here. He must be told.”

Helena murmured her agreement, but Samarra was lost in thought. _So, my male Cousland has the throne with Anora. What happened to Alistair? Fuck me, this isn’t good. This is fucking terrible. Either Alistair is dead, or he’s still a Grey Warden. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Alistair vs Hawke. I can’t. I just can’t deal. Fuck. What do I do? What can I do? Fuck. I have to do something. I can’t let either of them die._

_Calm down, woman. This isn’t the time. We haven’t reached that part yet. We need to focus on the now._

_But it’ll happen, dammit! How is this happening? I never had a world state where I had to choose between Hawke and Alistair. It was always Hawke and Stroud!_

_Has ANYTHING gone according to plan? And you’ve been meddling with things, haven’t you? What with alerting Cullen to Ser Barris, saving Farrier, among other things. Maybe that had something to do with this._

_It can’t be. It must have already been in place. Which means that this current world isn’t just one of my playthroughs, it has bits and pieces from several of my playthroughs._

_We’ll sort this shit out later. For now, focus on the meeting with Alexius, and getting to Dorian. We have a job to do. Helena needs to meet with Fiona, Alexius and Dorian - and Felix - to have the knowledge to make a proper decision._

She noticed Solas looking thoughtfully at her, as though he had managed to slot two pieces of a puzzle together. She dared not dwell on that, either. She was slowing them down, and she couldn’t afford to. They needed to get moving.

As they walked the clean dirt path that lead to the tavern, Samarra remembered something. _Isn’t that smuggler who poses as a Chantry sister somewhere around here?_ She took a slight detour to the left, and the others followed her, puzzled. She walked up a slight incline, to find a group of Chantry sisters gathered in a cluster, all of them praying.

Well, most of them.

How Tanner had managed to throw suspicion off her was beyond her. The woman stood in the half-circle of the sisters, her eyes closed, but her lips did not move. And Samarra saw her shift constantly, as though she was restless and bored.

_I guess the best way to deal with this situation is just be completely aggressive_. Striding forward, she grabbed hold of Tanner’s arm and pulled her away from the group, ignoring the gasps of the other sisters and the sound of outrage from Cassandra. 

“You’re not a sister,” Samarra calmly stated. “You’re a smuggler, Tanner, who has been working with the Templars. You called it off, though, didn’t you? Corran couldn’t get payment to you, and you couldn’t get the merchandise to him. So you decided to hide out here in Redcliffe, posing as a Chantry sister, till the hostilities ceased, and you could once again resume your activities.”

Tanner had blustered at first, but fell silent with shock as her identity - and pastime - was laid bare. “You can’t prove anything,” she said at last. “You’ve got no proof.”

“No,” she said, “I don’t. But I’m sure the Seeker here would like to have a few words with you. She was, after all, the Right Hand of the Divine.”

Tanner paled. “What do you intend to do?” she asked, a quaver in her voice.

Samarra turned to Varric and gave him a wink. He took the hint, and spoke up. “What kind of cut are they giving you? Have you got protection? I see a suspicious lack of guards. Looks to me like you’ve been cut loose. Maybe you should look for a new employer.”

“Are you serious?” the smuggler asked. “The high and mighty Inquisition needs smugglers?”

“We need all the help we can get,” Helena shrugged. “And the Inquisition could really use someone who can get goods around quietly. In return you’d get protection. It’s a win-win scenario, really.”

“All right,” the woman said, after a moment’s hesitation. “I’m in. Seems like the Inquisition is the safer bet these days,” She shook hands with both Helena and Samarra, and Helena told her to contact one of the Inquisition scouts and make her way to Haven.

“Report to Leliana,” Samarra added. “Tell her I told you to talk to her. My name’s Samarra.”

“You’re the woman they call Oracle?” Tanner inhaled sharply. “Is that how you knew about me?”

_Not really, sweetie. I’ve just recruited you very many times._ Samarra just smiled in reply.

“That was… entirely random,” Helena said with a laugh after Tanner had departed.

“I’m sure her help will come in handy,” Samarra shrugged.

“Oh, I’m sure it will. Shall we continue onwards? We have a Grand Enchanter - or, former Grand Enchanter - to meet.”

“Actually,” Samarra said hesitantly, “you guys go ahead. I’m going to go around, get a feel of things.”

“You can’t go around alone,” Helena was aghast. “Take someone with you.”

“Cassandra, would you mind accompanying me?” she asked. With Varric and Solas, Helena would have a balanced team. The Seeker seemed surprised by her choice, but agreed. They split up, and watched the others walk into the tavern. Samarra walked with the Seeker towards the docks, wanting to get to the hut she knew would hold the terrible truth about the Ocularums. She’d heard Helena talk about having come across several in the Hinterlands, and knew that the Herald had marked out the locations the ocularums had shown her on a map for the scouts. But Samarra had not yet had the opportunity to see a shard yet; everything that had been collected was first given to Leliana, who then passed it along to Solas.

And, well, she didn’t want to ask Solas.

“Where are we going?” Cassandra asked curiously, as they made their way towards the hut. 

“That house there,” Samarra nodded towards it. She stood in front of the door and jiggled the doorknob, only just realizing she had no lockpicking skills. _But I do have magic._ She wove the air inside the keyhole into a crude resemblance of a key that would match the tumblers, then, with a flick of her wrist, turned the ‘key’. The grooves of the magic-key slotted in against the tumblers, and turned smoothly. _Woohoo! I’m a fucking genius. Oh yeah, uh-huh, oh yeah, uh-huh, go me, go me, go me, I rock._

She tried the door again, and it opened up smoothly. She walked in quietly, Cassandra behind her, and began rummaging through what she found there. On a table at the far side of the room, she found what she was looking for - a sheaf of papers. A detailed description on how to tune a Tranquil, how to force a Tranquil into demonic possession, how to kill the Tranquil once he was possessed, how to strip away the skin and flesh of the Tranquil’s head to prepare it for enchantment was given. 

There were several letters, one from Magister Alexius, demanding that the recipient comb through Redcliffe for more Tranquil. Others were reports on the ocularums having been set up in other locations in Thedas.

She read everything, trying to detach herself from the reality of it. She’d read about it so many times in the game. She knew what the Venatori did to the Tranquil. But the impact of it, in the game, had only lasted for a few seconds. Here, now, in this reality, breathing in the slightly damp air of the cottage, hearing the gentle crash of water against the docks, it was different. She knew the horrors of the Rite of Tranquility. That the poor souls had suffered even more… What was worse was that she knew not many people cared much for the Tranquil. Even mages shunned them. The idea that they were so helpless and so abused, made her very, very angry, and she had a momentary urge to just let everyone and everything in Thedas burn.

The moment passed.

“What is the matter?” Cassandra asked her. Wordlessly, she handed over the documents to the Seeker. The raven-haired woman scanned through the pages, the horror in her face mounting. “Maker help me,” she exclaimed. “I had noticed that the Tranquil were vanishing, but I did not pay much heed. I should have looked harder,” she lamented. “I should have done more. Those poor souls.”

“We must get the Tranquil out of Redcliffe immediately,” Samarra said grimly. “The longer they remain here, the more danger they are in.” They walked out of the dark grimness of the hut into the bright yellow sunshine, but still there was a pallor that hung over them. What they had discovered had affected them deeply.

Samarra wandered around the village, trying to track down one of the Tranquil. To her relief, she saw Clemence heading towards the Gull and Lantern. She stopped him. “Hello,” she greeted him politely.

“Greetings,” he said in an monotone. 

“We are with the Inquisition,” Samarra said. “What can you tell us of this Tevinter magister?”

“Magister Alexius wishes only mages to remain in Redcliffe. He might approve of you. He does not approve of me.” Clemence replied. “Many villagers have already left to escape his ire.”

_You’re getting more strikes against you, Alexius._

“What does the magister have against you?” Cassandra asked.

“He does not like to be reminded of what mages can become. He says all Tranquil must leave Redcliffe, but who would take us in?”

_I bet he’s making them leave Redcliffe so that their disappearance won’t be noticed as much. If they leave the relative safety of Redcliffe, they can be easily ambushed and taken prisoner._ She exchanged a look with Cassandra.

“You are Tranquil?” Samarra asked, only to get a funny look from Cassandra. _Oh, right. That stupid fucking brand. What I wouldn’t give to brand every fucking member of the Chantry with that symbol. Let’s see how they like that shit._

“Yes. My talent for magic was… insufficient to protect me from demons. Rather than risk me becoming possessed, the Circle removed my connection to the Fade. My magic is gone, along with my dreams and desires. Those now in Redcliffe prefer not to see us.”

_What an absolutely shit-fucked world. It is the Chantry’s fault. If they hadn’t harped so much fear about magic, mages wouldn’t fear their own power. They wouldn’t have to worry about being possessed if they realized magic was a talent that could be built upon._

Samarra had to tamp down on her anger. 

“How long have the Tevinters been here?” Cassandra asked.

“Magister Alexius arrived at nightfall. Two weeks after we retreated from the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He forced anyone without magic out of the castle, save those he required to serve him. Even the arl was sent away.”

_Okay, Alexius, buddy. I think I’m going to have to introduce you to my arrows. I think you’ll get along famously. You’re an absolute fucking dick, and guess what? My arrows HATE dicks. I don’t give a shit that you’re Felix’s dad. I don’t even care that Dorian will hate me. A man who pulls the kind of crap you have deserves to have an arrow shoved up his arse_.

“If you believe you are unsafe in the village, perhaps you should consider joining the Inquisition,” Samarra said.

“If the magister will not have me here, perhaps I can offer my services,” Clemence said. “I am an alchemist. You must require potions.”

“That we do,” Samarra replied. 

“We would be happy to have you working with the Inquisition,” Cassandra added.

“That is good to hear. While one lives, it is good to believe there is still a use for one’s talents.” the tranquil said.

“Gather all the Tranquil in Redcliffe,” Cassandra ordered. “It might not be safe for you here any longer. I will have the Inquisition soldiers accompany you to Haven. You will be safer there.”

Cassandra’s statement made Samarra like the Seeker a little more. She’d never really gotten around to talking much with the woman. The Seeker’s devotion to the Chantry made her uncomfortable, especially given how much she knew about them, and their treatment of mages - and the general population, really. It irked her that Cassandra seemed blind to the injustices and the politicking, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to have a healthy discussion with the raven-haired woman as long as the other woman continued to hold on to her prejudices.

“Will the Inquisition have us?” he asked.

“Yes.” Samarra patted his arm kindly. “You can trust the Seeker.”

With Clemence gone, they retreated to a quiet and discreet corner, keeping a watchful eye out on the tavern.

“Why did you not want to accompany the Herald?” Cassandra finally asked her.

“She will meet with the magister,” Samarra explained. “Instinct warns me I should not let the man know of my presence. Too many people will want to abuse my power for themselves. Helena told you about Lady Vivienne’s salon, did she not? It was awful. All those people, greedy for what I could offer them. Even though I told them I could not see their future, only the Inquisition’s, they would not believe me. If a Tevinter magister who practices blood magic is aware of me, who knows what he will do?”

“The man is a blood mage?” Cassandra gasped. “We need to get to the Herald, now! She is not safe!”

“She will be fine,” Samarra reassured her. “Keep your voice down. His men are everywhere. We must not draw attention to ourselves.”

To the villagers, they looked like two agents of the Inquisition who were taking a break. But Samarra and Cassandra were on guard, keeping a wary eye out for signs of trouble. They saw the tavern door swing open hurriedly, and watched as Alexius guided his son towards Redcliffe Castle, Fiona and his manservant close to his heels. 

“The man there, in the peaked hood,” she whispered to Cassandra, “that is the magister. The young man is supporting is his son, Felix. His son must be unwell, for him to abandon his talks with Helena so abruptly.”

Cassandra nodded. They rose from their seats and headed towards the tavern. Moments later, a grim-faced Helena walked out, followed by a troubled-looking Solas and Varric.

“You know what Fiona has done, don’t you?” Helena said grimly.

Samarra nodded. “She has indentured the rebel mages to the Tevinter Imperium,” she answered, mostly for Cassandra’s benefit.

“Is she mad?” Cassandra ground out. “Does she want to anger all of Thedas?”

“Hush!” Samarra cautioned. “I will tell you what happened later. The magister’s spies could be everywhere.”

“What next?” Varric asked, his usually cheerful countenance gone.

“His son gave me a note,” Helena said. She handed it to Samarra, who unfurled it and read it together with Cassandra. “Come to the Chantry. You are in danger.”

Cassandra gave Samarra a baleful look. “I thought you said that the Herald was in no danger,” she accused.

Samarra shrugged. If I tell you the truth of it, woman, you won’t believe me. And I never would, not with Solas around. “If I had a vision that said so, I would have alerted you,” she argued back. “I don’t constantly receive visions for anything and everything.”

“Calm down, you two,” Helena soothed. “Let’s go to the Chantry and find out what’s going on.”

“You sure this is a good idea, Glowbug?” Varric asked uneasily.

“Only one way to find out.” With that, Helena began striding towards the Chantry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I play the game, and I come across the hut in Redcliffe that has the truth about Tranquils, it makes me want to tell Solas, "Hey, you just go right ahead and do your thing, _let Thedas burn_ ".


	33. That's Altus, Not Magister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Master Pavus, most recently of Minrathous, Tevinter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

They walked as quickly as they dared to towards the Chantry, while trying not to draw attention and raise suspicion. In a stroke of genius, Cassandra stopped to talk to one of the Sisters, claiming that the Herald wanted a chance to pray for the villagers. The woman, noticeably touched, pointed them towards the Chantry, telling them that they could light candles as offering if they so desired.

“That was a brilliant move, Seeker,” Varric approved.

“Perhaps I will pray,” Cassandra replied. “In the midst of all these chaos, it is important for one to have faith.”

Samarra suppressed a smile. The Seeker didn’t know yet that she had been touched by a spirit of Faith. She wondered how Cassandra would take the news. But the raven-haired woman’s statement made it obvious why she had attracted the attention of a spirit of Faith. Even though it seemed almost fanatical at times, there were moments when Samarra admitted to herself that she was envious of Cassandra. There had been moments in her life when she could have used that staunch, unshakeable faith.

The old building rose up gracefully in front of them. It was the largest building in the village, and one of the few made of stone. Moss covered its surface, and and green vines that looked suspiciously like ivy creeped up the length of it. The doors were wooden and solid, and were clearly well-taken care of from the shine they had. There was a sense of reverential peace as they approached it.

The Seeker took up point guard, shielding Helena from any threat that could lurk inside. Solas was behind the Herald, while she and Varric flanked the brunette. They stepped inside the building, shutting the door firmly behind them, their eyes adjusting to the relative darkness of the lamp-filled room.

There was a green-gold haze up ahead that they all knew instantly to be a rift. The sounds of a fight reached their ears, and the two warriors immediately unsheathed their swords. Samarra found herself nodding at Varric, and clambering to the sides to find a good vantage point. She could see only the back of the man who fought viciously against the demons, To her surprise, Dorian wasn’t using his magic to fight the demons, instead wielding his staff as a weapon. Only then did it occur to her that he must have been fighting for so long, he didn’t have any mana remaining.

She didn’t want to think of what could have happened if they had delayed their arrival for too long.

She watched, impressed, as he used the staff blade to seamlessly gut a Shade, then whirl it around to strike a second over the head. The crystal at the tip of his staff glowed, and the demon exploded an instant later.

There was a lull as the rift shimmered and shifted in the air, and Samarra knew that more demons would arrive. Evidently, Dorian expected the same, because he turned towards Helena and spoke up. “Good!” he exclaimed, “you’re finally here! Now help me close this, would you?”

Samarra found herself gawking at the sight of that beautifully kept mustache. It was such perfection, the ends perfectly curled, that little well-groomed soul patch on his chin. And his voice! It oozed arrogance, and class, education and breeding. It was the kind of voice she’d had plenty of contact with in her old life, and it usually came with people whom she despised.

She hoped Dorian wouldn’t turn out to be like them.

Focusing back on the fight at hand, she jolted as the rift gave a mighty _crack!_ sound. Two terror demons and three Shades emerged from the rift. Samarra froze the Terrors in place, and then focused her attention on the shades. She caught herself comparing the combat styles of the two mages. Solas wielded his staff with an almost effortless ease, as though he intimately knew his magic, and he was well-practiced in martial ways. _Which, duh, he is._

Dorian, on the other hand, used his staff in a somewhat clinical fashion. He was well aware of how magic worked, that much was obvious, but so was the fact that his knowledge was more theoretical than intuitive and fluid. The man was clearly knowledgeable, but he was also - and this was a strange thing to say, but it was - rather primitive. His knowledge of elemental magic was immense, judging by the massive damage his spells did. She could see the mana flowing to him when a spirit fell, and knew he had cast Death Syphon. She watched, fascinated, as two spirits appeared next to him and fought alongside him. _Power of the Dead. I can’t believe it works with demons. I thought it would only be limited to living enemies, not corrupted ones._ She had barely any work to do; the two mages and two warriors had taken care of everything, and Varric and her just offered the occasional arrow anytime a demon wandered too close to any of them.

She could feel the strange magic in the air again, and wondered why she wasn’t feeling as sick as she had before. _Probably something in that pellet Solas gave me. I must ask him about it. Even if he is a massive dick, that was still a nice thing to do._

Helena sealed the rift in a well-practiced motion, and Dorian wandered up to her, utterly fascinated by the connection between her palm and the rift. “Fascinating!” he spoke up, awed, once Helena had finished closing the rift. “How does that work, exactly?”

Helena stared at him, puzzled. “Uhmmm…” she began.

Dorian laughed. “You don’t even know, do you?” he chortled. “You just wiggle your fingers, and boom! Rift closes.”

Helena managed a weak smile. “Close enough, I guess. I’m no mage, I have no idea how any of this shit works.”

“Who are you?” Cassandra demanded.

“Ah, getting ahead of myself again, I see. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?” he said solicitously. 

“Another Tevinter,” Cassandra muttered balefully. “Be cautious with this one.”

“Suspicious friends you have here,” Dorian replied cheerfully. “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable - as I’m sure you can imagine.”

Samarra used the time to carefully observe the Tevinter mage. Thick, neat eyebrows framed almond eyes of a tawny brown. His lips were well shaped, the cupid’s bow not very prominent, but his mouth was made to seem more attractive by the facial hair he had. His skin was mocha, and it was clear it was well taken-care of. There was the cutest of moles on top of his right cheekbone. A single, shallow furrow lurked between his brows, as though the man spent a great deal of time with his forehead furrowed in thought.

As handsome as his countenance was, it was further amplified by the aura of confidence and the slight swagger the man wore. The whole package reminded her of some rather unpleasant characters she’d come into contact with during the times she’d mingled with New York’s elite.

Helena turned towards her. “What do you think, Samarra? Can we trust this magister?” she asked.

“He’s an altus, not a magister,” she unconsciously corrected, drawing Dorian’s attention.

“Interesting,” he said, frowning slightly. The furrow between his brows deepened. “I’m sure I never made mention of my title. How would you know what I am?”

“Samarra is our resident seeress,” Helena chirped. “She has visions of the future.”

Dorian perked up visibly at the news. “How utterly fascinating! Have you looked into the matter? Figured out its source, perhaps? Were you born with it, or did it come to you?”

“I’m told I fell out of the Breach. I began having visions after that,” she replied stiffly. Dorian made her feel like one of her lab rat specimens, and she was afraid he would experiment on her given a chance.

Helena cleared her throat. “I was expecting Felix to be here,” she said.

“I’m sure he’s on his way,” Dorian replied dismissively. “He was to give you the note, then meet us here after ditching his father.”

“Alexius couldn’t jump to Felix’s side fast enough when he pretended to be faint. Is something wrong with him?” Helena asked, worriedly. _Bless her heart. She truly is a caring person. I wonder if there’s something we can do for Felix. I really don’t want him to die. I want him to join the Inquisition and become his buddy. He’s such a nice guy._

“He’s had some lingering illness for months. Felix is an only child, and Alexius is most likely being a mother hen.” Dorian replied shortly. She caught him staring at her, trying to figure out how much she knew about Felix. She kept her face expressionless; the only companion she would fully trust right off the bat was Cole. All the others would have to pass through a trial period, and she did not want to give away too much of herself too quickly.

“Why are you betraying your mentor? Cassandra asked suspiciously.

“Alexius was my mentor,” Dorian corrected. “Meaning he’s not any longer, not for some time. Look, you must know there’s danger,” he implored. “That should be obvious even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you,” he began to explain. “As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

Samarra strode up to Solas. Poking a finger at his chest, she proclaimed loudly. “SUCK IT, EGGHEAD! I WAS RIGHT! YOU CAN SHOVE YOUR ARROGANT HEAD UP YOUR ARROGANT ASS, you absolutely insufferable oaf.”

Varric and Helena burst out laughing, while Cassandra gave an amused snicker. Dorian looked rather confused and taken-aback at her sudden outburst, while Solas… well, Solas was less than pleased. 

“That is fascinating, if true… and almost certainly dangerous,” he remarked, his tone seeming to imply that the Tevinter mage was lying.

“The rift you close here? You saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up and slowed others down.” Dorian said defensively.

Samarra cackled. “And _someone_ thought I was crazy,” she scoffed.

“Soon,” Dorian continued, “there will be more like it, and they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unravelling the world.”

Helena was silent for a while. “You’re asking me to take a lot on faith,” she finally said.

Dorian’s features twisted into a mask of bitterness. “I know what I’m talking about. I helped discover this magic,” he confessed. The sound of a sword being unsheathed echoed in the silence following his confession. 

“Calm down, Cassandra,” Helena pacified. 

“When I was still his apprentice,” Dorian continued, “It was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. What I don’t understand is _why_ he’s doing it. Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

“Those lackeys are mages who are desperate to survive,” Samarra growled. “And who have been forced into slavery through no fault of their own.”

Dorian turned towards her. “Perhaps the seeress has some knowledge as to his behavior,” he sneered. “Pray tell us, why is Alexius doing what he is doing?”

She really wanted to slap him. He was turning out to be exactly like those assholes back home, the kind that thought they were better than everyone else and were infuriatingly condescending.

“He didn’t do it for them,” a new voice chimed, and Felix strode into view. The young man looked to be a few years younger than Dorian, His skin was a few shades lighter than Dorian’s, his eyes a deeper brown. His brows were elegant, and his nose aquiline. His mouth was on the thinner side, but he was a very attractive man in his own right. As he moved closer to them, Samarra could make out the darkness around his eyes, the way the corner of his lips were ever-so-slightly twisted in pain. His skin looked a tad pale, almost as though he was anaemic. It would not be noticeable to someone who did not know the lad was ill. She knew Solas had figured out Felix’s illness by the way his mouth pursed up sympathetically.

“Took you long enough!” Dorian exclaimed. “Is he getting suspicious?” he demanded.

Felix shook his head. “No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day!” his lips curled up into a smile for a moment, then flattened into a thin line as he addressed Helena. “My father’s joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves Venatori.”

“The hunters,” Samarra murmured to herself. “Why do they call themselves the hunters?”

“And I can tell you one thing,” Felix concluded. “Whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you.”

“Why would he rearrange time and indenture the mage rebellion just to get to me?” Helena asked, puzzled.

“They’re obsessed with you,” Felix stated, “but I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes?”

“You _can_ close the rifts,” Dorian mused. “Maybe there’s a connection? Or perhaps they see you as a threat?”

“If the Venatori are behind those rifts, or the Breach in the sky, they’re even worse than I thought,” Felix sounded frightened.

“Alexius is your father,” Varric piped up. “Why’re you working against him?”

“For the same reason Dorian works against him. I love my father, and I love my country. But this? Cults? Time magic? What he’s doing now is madness. For his own sake, you have to stop him,” Felix pleaded.

“It would also be nice if he didn’t rip a hole in _time_. There’s already a hole in the sky,” Dorian joked sarcastically.

“Do you have any suggestions on how to stop him?" Helena asked after a lengthy silence.

“You know you’re his target. Expecting the trap is the first step to turning it to your advantage.” Dorian commented. 

“What are your plans?” the Herald asked him.

“I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here, and I want to keep it that way for now. But whenever you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there.”

Helena looked at Samarra, who gave her the slightest of nods. “You could join us at Haven,” she offered. “Join the Inquisition. We could use your expertise.”

He seemed to ponder over the offer. “I would be foolish not to accept,” he said. “If I linger around these parts, sooner or later Alexius will learn of my presence. Very well,” he said decidedly, “I’ll join up with the Inquisition. You’ll have to find me another way to Haven. I’ll draw too much attention if I go with you.”

Helena directed him to an Inquisition scout by the name Harvey, telling Dorian that the scout would find a safer way for him to get to Haven. Dorian departed soon after, with a casual warning directed towards Felix, telling him not to get killed.

“Felix?” Samarra called out softly. “A word?” 

“Of course.” He was confused, but willingly stopped to converse with her.

“I know you are aware of what you father plans to do, and why,” she said quietly, casting a soundproof barrier around them. The vision she’d received as Felix spoke to Helena had told her as such. He looked startled, and began to object, but she hushed him. “I know that you want to stop him before he can succeed, and I applaud that. But that is not why I wished to talk with you. I know what your sickness is, and how it ends. I want to help, if you will let me.”

“But why?” he asked, puzzled. “You do not know me. Why are you willing to help me, even after knowing what my father will do?”

“Because you are not your father,” she explained patiently. “You are a better man than he can ever hope to be. I know this as certainty,” she remarked. “The world needs all the good people it can get, Felix. I hope, when the time comes for you to make a choice, that you will make the right one.” She patted his cheek in a maternal fashion, and walked away to join the others, leaving a very confused Felix behind.

Solas, she knew, would burn with curiosity about her conversation with Felix. But Samarra brushed off all their attempts to probe into it, casually declaring that they would find out at the right time.

As they made their way back towards Haven, Samarra found herself wondering about Dorian. He’d always been her best friend in all her playthroughs, and she’d enjoyed his witty banter and his sarcastic quips. Meeting the man in the flesh had disillusioned her. He seemed arrogant, condescending, and while he was witty, he was also quick to dismiss anyone he thought was below him. Unless the man underwent a radical change of belief, she didn’t think it was possible for her to be friends with him.

_Great_ , she sighed to herself. _I’m stuck with three arrogant, pompous mages for company. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Solas might actually be the lesser of three evils. Even with his whole I’m-an-ancient-god-who-can-totally-kill-you-in-your-sleep thing. I’d rather cut off my little toe than spend time with Vivienne, and goddammit, Dorian isn’t the person I wanted him to be. Not now, anyway. Ugh. Who the fuck can I hang out with? Varric’s nice enough, but he’s kind of crafty and sly, and if I let something slip he’s going to write about it. Sera’s okay, but she can get annoying in large doses. Cassandra… well, what am I going to talk to her about? Romance novels? Well, maybe, but we can’t discuss them 24/7. Blackwall… well he gets really nervous each time I try to talk to him. With good reason, I suppose. Helena isn’t always going to be around. Leliana’s a bit too stab-happy, Josephine will make me talk to the nobles, and Cullen… lord knows what Cullen will do. Guess I’m stuck hanging out with everyone and keeping my secrets to myself. But that was always the plan, wasn’t it? God, sometimes I wish I’d just flat out told everyone who I was._

_We’re back to that, are we? Do we really need to get into this dumb argument again?_

_It’s not easy, feeling so alone._

_I know. It sucks major balls. You did the right thing, though. This world isn’t shaping up to be something you’re totally familiar with. There’s a ridiculous amount of work to be done. There’s the whole Hawke/Alistair shitfest to deal with. You need to find out what’s happening in this world. And then there’s the matter of finding something to help Felix. If you want to change things, you’re going to have to work really hard, and be really delicate. You can’t afford to let anyone know. If you told them who you were, then all these things that you want to change - you wouldn’t have been able to._

_I might still not be able to change things. The Hawke/Alistair decision… that isn’t mine to make. And I can’t bear to think…_

_You don’t know yet! Don’t give up. Gather as much information as you can. For the moment, remember the matter of mages vs templars has yet to be resolved. Then there’s the closing of the Breach, and the attack on Haven. Those are all really, really big things. They could really alter the way the future goes. I know it’s hard, but you’re going to have to be patient._

_I hate it when you’re right._

_Get used to it, bitch._

_Yeah, yeah, I love you too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian's always been my BFF in ALL my playthroughs, but he's also pretty arrogant. I've always thought he changed his views over the course of the Inquisition, especially since, you know, he's grown up in a culture that accepts slavery and blood magic with ease.


	34. To The Victor Go The Spoils... No, Wait, To The Friends Go The Gifts. That's Better.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samarra spreads some love and cheer in Haven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: multi-weekly (is that even a word)
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought (mostly).

The return journey to Haven was filled with a mixed bag of emotions. They were all glad to be returning to what passed for ‘home’, having spent more than a month on the road. More than on conversation rose about the events that had occurred at Redcliffe Village, and Samarra and Solas had had more than one heated ‘discussion’ about the possibility of time magic, the elven apostate refusing to believe that a Tevinter magistrate could have discovered it. “Not even the ancient elves were capable of such magic!” he’d hotly declared, only to glare at her when she made a flippant remark about how maybe the ancient elves didn’t know everything. Finally, Varric broke up their conversation, pulling over to draw Samarra into conversation - which she was only too happy to do, especially since it meant giving the cold shoulder to the Egg.

They reached Haven mid-morning, where they were greeted at the stables by some of Leliana and Cullen’s men. It was a relatively quiet dismount; at this point of time Helena did not have many ardent believers yet. There were a several men and women who hovered around, eager to catch a glimpse of the Herald, but Samarra knew it paled in comparison to what would happen after Helena closed the Breach. She smiled as Helena, as tired as she was, made it a point to talk to each and every one of them, casually inquiring about their well-being. Samarra felt very protective over Helena - it had gone from a mere ‘oh-I-kinda-created-her-so-she’s-my-responsibility’ kind of concern to a real, genuine admiration and respect for the brunette, and Samarra vowed to do whatever it was to keep her as safe as possible.

A scout hailed her as she approached the village gates, a wide grin on his face. “Your Notability,” he began, “the package you wished to remain hidden has been deposited into your room. I can guarantee that the Nightingale does not know of its presence.”

She smiled back in return, excited. “Thank you, thank you so much, uhh - Jasper, wasn’t it?” he nodded. “Well, I really am grateful for your help, and I would really appreciate it if you called me Samarra.” she continued with a wink.

His cheeks turned lightly pink, but he nodded. With a small bow, he excused himself, and Samarra headed straight for her quarters. She entered the hut to find Helena staring quizzically at the three parcels on Samarra’s bed. 

“Uhhhh,” the brunette turned towards her, “What are those?” she asked.

“The shopping I did I Val Royeaux,” Samarra explained. “But I seem to be missing a staff. I wonder where it went…?”

“Probably with Harritt,” Helena said. “I’m sure Leliana would have thought it required repairing - which it most certainly did, given the rather dismal state it was in. I still can’t believe you paid so much for it,” she groused.

Samarra rolled her eyes. “I don’t care,” she said. “But hang on a minute, will you?” She quickly rummaged through the bags, finally pulling out the gold-plated star brooch she’d bought for the Herald. “Close your eyes,” she commanded, and Helena obediently shut them. She caught Helena’s hand, and pressed the brooch into her palm. “Open your eyes,” she said with a smile. 

“What is it?” Helena opened her hand excitedly, letting out a little squeal when she saw the brooch. “Maker’s breath, this is beautiful!” she exclaimed. “What is this for?” she asked Samarra.

“You are my shining star,” Samarra said with a smile. “I wanted to get something for you. I hope… I hope that you know that you are someone I care about, deeply. You are… like family to me.” Samarra stammered, shyness coming over her.

She was alarmed when tears rushed to Helena’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” she hastily said, “I didn’t mean to offend you. I know it’s not grand or anything, but I thought…” she was cut off as Helena jumped on her, giving her a very tight hug.

“Shut up,” the Herald said, her voice muffled against Samarra’s shoulder. “It’s beautiful. It’s perfect. It means everything. No one’s ever done given me such a thoughtful gift. Or given me a surprise like this. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!” she pulled back, giving Samarra a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek. “I’ll wear it, and I’ll never take it off. Not for anything,” she promised.

She covered the brooch, in Helena’s hand, with her own. _Keep her safe_ , she thought desperately. _Protect her from those who would do her harm_. To her surprise, she could feel a faint hum coming from the brooch.

Helena recognized it, too. “You enchanted it?” she asked. “It suddenly felt so warm.”

“I did,” Samarra confirmed. _Just don’t ask me how, because I have no idea_. “I asked it to keep you safe,” she said with a smile.

That earned her another bear hug from the Herald, and when Samarra walked out, she was smiling widely even though her ribs ached. She made her way to the spymaster’s tent, catching Leliana’s eye and calling her over with a wave. The Nightingale walked towards her, eyebrows raised. “Yes?” she asked.

Samarra threw caution to the wind, and pulled the redhead into a hug. “I missed you,” she said, “but I have something for you!” With a flourish, she presented the pretty silver-and-black raven brooch to the spymaster. “A reminder of Baron Plucky when he’s off on duty,” she said with a smile.

Leliana took the brooch hesitantly, almost as though she found it hard to believe she was receiving a gift. “What do you want?” she demanded.

Samarra’s face fell. “Nothing,” she said quietly. “I saw this, and I thought of you. I thought you would like it, that’s all. I’m not after anything in return.” With that, she walked away, feeling the spymaster’s gaze bore into her back. She was glad when she escaped into the Chantry, feeling a little disheartened by the Nightingale’s response.

_You have to remember, Leliana’s been through some pretty rough shit. She’s hardened, dude. Of course she’s going to be suspicious of everything and everyone. It’s how she is now. And it’s your job to help her find her inspiration again._

She knocked on the Ambassador’s door. “Come in,” Josephine’s elegant voice called out.

“Saluti, mia signora. Spero che si sta mantenendo bene?"

“Si, grazie,” the ambassador replied with a smile. “Spero che le cose sono bene con voi?”

“Si, mia signora.”

“What can I do for you? Josephine asked with a smile, switching back to Common.

“Actually,” Samarra felt suddenly shy. The Antivan was always dressed impeccably, with beautifully tailored clothing, and fine jewellery. Her gift seemed rather silly. “We were in Val Royeaux… well, you know that already… I spent some time shopping, and I wanted to get something for you, because you’re so nice and you’ve done so much for me, and it isn’t much, and it’s probably silly, but… I thought it would suit you, and… and… here it is,” she spoke in a rush, the words tumbling out one after the other. She shyly handed the pearl haircomb to Josephine. “It isn’t anything special,” she repeated. “You probably think it’s silly.”

“Oh!” Josephine colored prettily as she took the trinket. “Do not say so,” she murmured. “It is very pretty, truly.” The ambassador raised her head, the look in her eyes soft. “In the midst of all the chaos, you thought to do something incredibly kind. Thank you. It is special.”

It was Samarra’s turn to blush. “I… I’m glad you like it,” she stammered. 

“I do,” Josephine replied, running her fingers over the carvings on the haircomb. “Thank you.”

Leaving Josephine to her work, Samarra quietly slipped out. She bumped into someone, and began to apologize when she noticed who it was. Leliana stood in front of her, an indecipherable look on her face. “I assume you brought something for Josephine as well?” she asked, her tone neutral.

Samarra nodded slowly, unsure as to what the spymaster wanted. “I got something for everyone,” she said, a tad defiantly. 

“Is that so?” Leliana raised her brows.

“Yes. Look, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’m not trying to buy everyone’s affection and friendship. I consider all of you to be my friends. I like to do nice things for my friends. It’s fine if you don’t think the same of me,” she continued, “but dammit, Leliana, would it kill you to just accept a gift for once?”

“A gift always comes with strings attached,” the redhead replied ominously.

“Not mine. Look, I have done my best to help the Inquisition. I do all I can as I healer. When Helena wanted me to help the refugees in the Crossroads, I did. If I see something I think will be of use, I tell you. I have asked for nothing in return. Get this into your head, Leliana,” she said angrily, “I am here because I choose to be, and because I genuinely want to help. If I wanted something in return, I don’t mind asking for it, or working for it. I’ve been with the Inquisition for months now, have done everything asked and expected of me. If I’m still not trusted after all that, then perhaps I shouldn’t be here!” Samarra spat out, and then brushed past the woman and walked away, her temper high.

She went to Cullen’s office next, pleased when he took the small bronze lion statue with the cutest of flushes on his cheeks. He thanked her graciously, and set it on his table. She asked how he was doing, and he said he was well, but she could tell from the dark circles under his eyes that he had not been sleeping well. She promised to mix up some sleeping draughts for him, making a mental note to find a better way to protect the poor man’s mind from demons.

She next headed towards the healer’s tent, and was given a quick update by Ellandra and the other healers.. There had been no new cases of miliary tuberculosis, and most of the ailments the healers had seen were minor and easily treated. The only people in the infirmary were a group of soldiers who’d gotten into a brawl after a night of heavy drinking, and they would soon be discharged.

Once the discussions and their updates were done, Samarra gave everyone their gifts. Ellandra was thoroughly charmed by the dangly silver earrings, immediately taking off the dainty studs she wore and trying on the new ones. Everna oohed and aahed over the raw gemstone necklace, a little hesitant to take it at first, but Samarra was firm. Ashalle broke into tears at the sight of the halla necklace, wrapping her arms around Samarra’s neck. Giles was completely enchanted by the book on herbology she had picked up for him, knowing that the young elf had an immense fascination for all things botany-related. They all thanked her, although Ellandra did chide her in a maternal fashion about wasting her money on mere trifles. Samarra laughed and replied that she did not consider any of them mere trifles, she considered them as friends. That had caused Ashalle and Everna to shed some more tears, and even the usually level-headed Giles was somewhat emotional.

When she left, she was completely emotional, and so she headed straight for Cassandra. She found her in her room. “Cassandra?” she called out, rapping lightly on the door. The Seeker motioned her to enter. Samarra walked in. “I… got something for you in Val Royeaux, that I think you might like. But first, I’m going to have to ask you not to kill me, and to give me a chance to explain, okay?” Cassandra was puzzled, but nodded. Samarra handed over the book - _The Pirate And His Captive_ \- and watched, amusedly, as the Seeker turned bright red.

“What is the meaning of this!” Cassandra exclaimed, dropping the book to the ground as though it were a lump of hot coal.

“I… had a vision,” Samarra grinned. “You like reading. You like Swords and Shields. No, don’t lie to me Cassandra,” she cut off the Seeker, “you can’t fool me, I know.” She tapped her forehead. “I couldn’t get you the latest Swords and Shields, it isn’t out yet. But I thought you might like something else. And I promise, I won’t tell anyone else. Varric thinks I got the book for myself, so you’re safe.”

“I… thank you,” Cassandra said, picking up the book. She browsed the summary, a small smile on the edges of her lips. “This was thoughtful of you,” she said, her eyes shining.

“There’s no need for thanks,” Samarra stated simply. “You’re my friend.”

“I wonder if I have enough time to read the first chapter,” Cassandra murmured to herself, and Samarra knew it was time for her to leave. She only had Solas and Varric to meet. It had occurred to her that she had forgotten to get something for Sera, and made a note to ask Harritt if he could craft some arrows for Sera.

Sera did like her arrows, after all.

She found Varric at the tavern, a mug of ale set before him, several sheets of paper scattered around him. “Looks like I came by just in time,” she said with a smile. “Here, these are for you. Thought they’d make a nice change.” She slid over the two pots of colored ink towards him.

“You got this for me? When?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I told you I was going to go shopping,” she joked.

“Crimson, you shouldn’t have. Thanks. I bet I can piss off the Merchant’s Guild by penning all my letters to them in red ink. You know they hate the color red? Which is really stupid, because the meeting hall is decorated in red silk.”

She laughed at his tales of the Guild, and when he ordered a mug of mead for her, she didn’t refuse, knowing it was his way of saying thanks. She sat with him, joking with him, offering him wild and crazy suggestions for his next book - some of which he actually wrote down, to her amusement. With a promise to join him for some Wicked Grace after dinner, she went to track down the last person on her list - the maddening, infuriating bald-headed elven apostate.

She knocked on his door. “Come in,” he called out. “What can I do for you?” he said politely when she entered.

“I, uhhh… I went shopping in Val Royeaux, for everyone,” she said, trying very hard not to blush. “I got you something that I think you might like.” She very hesitantly handed over the sketchbook and the tin of charcoal crayons.

He raised his eyebrows. “A strange gift indeed, especially for a wandering apostate,” he smoothly said, his eyes suddenly sharp and intense. “Why would you select something like this?”

She sighed. She knew he’d ask questions and try to probe, but he was being rather ungrateful about it. “I don’t know why you’re asking, especially since it should be obvious that I had a vision. You’re a truly amazing artist, Solas. That’s why I got this for you.”

He took them gingerly from her, and placed them gently on his desk. Turning back to her, he pinned her with his gaze. She suddenly felt like the world had shrunk down around her, till only he and she existed.

She gulped, but she refused to look away. To look away was a sign of weakness, a sign of surrender. And if the Dread Wolf thought she would surrender to him… well, he had another thing coming.

“What did this vision of yours show?” he inquired silkily, the strands of his voice wrapping around her. She could feel him trying to probe into her mind - which was unacceptable.

“I’d really appreciate it if you stopped trying to break into my mind,” she stated harshly, pleased to see a look of surprise fall over his face. Apparently, he hadn’t expected her to notice her attempts. _Good to know. Which means I’m better at protecting myself from him than I think I am. Of course, it also means that the fucker will get more sly and underhanded about it._ “I can’t tell you about it, because, duh! You’re in it. Can’t change the future and whatnot, you know. I got that for you because I thought you’d enjoy it. It’s yours to do with as you please. If you want to throw it away, go ahead. It’s yours.” She spun around, and jiggled the doorknob, alarmed when it wouldn’t open. “Let me out!” she demanded.

She found him towering over her when she turned towards him. His eyes were once again feral, the dark, dark pools held in place by that mesmerizing silver ring. His nostrils flared when she growled under her breath, not happy about being cornered. He began to dip his head towards hers, and she thought, for a moment, that he was going to kiss her. A mixture of alarm, excitement and fear spread through her. She was doing all she could to keep him at arm’s length. She could not afford to fall in love with him. She could not. It was the worst thing that could happen.

She cleared her throat, looking at him with her brow quirked. It served to snap him out of whatever haze he was, and the tips of his ears reddened. He turned away from her. “Thank you for the gift,” he said calmly, as though the past minute had never occurred. “It was a thoughtful gesture indeed, and I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, Solas. I hope you use it,” she replied. “I’d love to see some of your work.” 

_Where did that come from? Weren’t you JUST harping about not falling in love with him?_

_I just want to see his artwork, not hump him._

_YEAH RIGHT. Woman, do you think you have even the slightest chance of NOT falling for him? You always do. Fuck, you had to play non-elf characters to stop yourself from romancing him, do you remember?_

_That was IN THE GAME. This is REAL LIFE. I think I can stop myself from falling into bed with him._

_HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA oh my god you’re so precious. We’ll see how that goes._

He became flustered. “Perhaps. We shall see. Maybe at a later time.”

“Okay, then… well, I need to get going. This girl needs a good, long soak. You in for some Wicked Grace later?” she asked.

“Maybe another time,” he excused himself.

She shrugged. “Well, might be a good thing you’re not coming,” she teased. “I still haven’t quite forgiven you for how much you took from me last time. Maybe you should come. You know, give me a chance to reclaim some of my money - and dignity! - back.”

He smiled then, a wide, amused smile. “Perhaps a rematch should be considered when you have improved,” he teased back. “You are shockingly easy to read.”

She gasped in mock-outrage. “How dare you? I do not have any tells, I’m a lady!”

“Given how much of your coin I was able to claim,” he teased, “perhaps you are not a lady?”

“Those are some fighting words! I demand a rematch! With witnesses!” she exclaimed.

He chuckled. “Perhaps I will let you attempt to best me. Should I finish my tasks, I will join you in the tavern.”

“Oh, it’s on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS
> 
> Saluti, mia signora. Spero che si sta mantenendo bene? - Greetings, my lady. I hope you are keeping well?
> 
> Si, grazie. Spero che le cose sono bene con voi? - Yes, thank you. I hope things are well with you?
> 
> Si, mia signora - Yes, my lady
> 
> * * *
> 
> Another fun chapter for me to write. Was it pointless? Sure, you could argue that. Did it further the plot? Probably not. Do I care? Hell no. Gift-giving Samarra is so much fun. Can I just call her Santa Samarra already? :D


	35. Wicked Grace, War Rooms and Impending Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If a mage and a templar are advisors to the Herald, who is more biased?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

The tavern was noisier than usual, many of Haven’s inhabitants glad to see the Herald back. To Samarra’s surprise, a good number had come up to her and inquired over her. She tried to remember everyone’s faces, but there were too many of them, and sometimes her memory failed her. They forgave her for not remembering their names, pleased that she recognized them Several of the soldiers offered to buy her drinks, clearly angling to get her into bed, but she dismissed them, some with a quick, easy smile, others with a dangerous glare.

She sat next to Everna. The blond elf was shy, unused to spending so much time with the shems, especially the ‘important’ ones. Between herself, Varric and Helena, they were drawing her out of her shell. To her amusement, Giles and Sera got along well. The last time she’d paid attention to their conversation they were discussing the potential of using insects as weapons.

 _Aaaaand we’re going to have Sera asking for bees soon_ , she’d thought with a chortle.

The Seeker and Ellandra were having a quiet conversation. She knew the two women had a lot in common. They had both lost people they loved - Cassandra had lost her mage lover, Regalyan, to the explosion in the Conclave, and Ellandra’s templar love had killed himself when the terrors that accompanied lyrium withdrawal became too much for him to bear. Samarra knew that Ellandra kept her phylactery on her at all times, unwilling to take the risk of leaving it out for one of the templars in Haven to stumble upon. Despite their differences, the mage and the Seeker had a deep sense of righteousness, and their voices were too low for Samarra to make out what they discussed.

Cullen, as usual, was exchanging glances with Helena, who seemed to have become emboldened by the amount of alcohol she’d imbibed. The brunette was outright flirting with the Commander, and despite his red cheeks, the man seemed to be enjoying - revelling, even - in the Herald’s attention.

“I raise four silvers,” she called out, and laughed when everyone groaned. She’d had a pretty good stroke of luck so far, and had won seven of the ten rounds they’d played. Varric was grumbling about her cheating using her visions, and Everna joined in. “I’m out,” the blond elf declared, nursing her mug between her hands. “You’ve got the Creators with you tonight.”

Varric saw her bet, but the others folded their cards. She turned towards Solas, grinning. “Well, _ser_ apostate? What about you?”

He gave her a considering look. “I will match that,” he said slowly, “and raise another two silvers.”

Helena chuckled. “Solas, you really want to go up against Samarra tonight? Save your coin. Woman’s practically blessed tonight.”

“Yeah,” Samarra agreed, goading him. “You think you can beat me?”

Solas remained unruffled. “If you are so sure of winning, perhaps you should match my bet,” he replied calmly.

She pushed two more coins towards the pile in the center of the table. They continued playing, until Varric finally dropped the Angel of Death down.

Samarra suspected the wily dwarf had had the card hidden up his sleeve the entire time, but she couldn’t prove it.

“Right, I’ve got three daggers,” the dwarf happily declared. “Try and beat that, Crimson.”

“Three daggers? Pah,” she scoffed. “Prepare to lose, dwarf.” She laid her cards down. “Read ‘em and weep. Four songs for the healer,” she whooped. “I’ll just take this pot off you gentlemen,” she said with a cheeky grin.

“I do not believe you can lay claim to all the coin,” Solas smirked. He turned over his cards. The infuriating elf had four serpents! “I believe we share the pot,” he grinned.

Samarra grumbled, but divided the money up evenly. “I still call that a win for me,” she said.

“I do not believe so,” Solas disagreed. “A winner is usually a single person.”

Varric scoffed. “Haven’t you ever heard of a win-win situation, Chuckles?”

That then caused Solas to enter into a spirited discussion with Varric over what really constituted a win-win situation. Samarra rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair, enjoying the mead. It was one of Flissa’s attempts at brewing, and she had to admit the barkeep really had a knack for making good alcohol. _I’ll have to dissuade her from joining the Chantry,_ she thought lazily, _or at least, find out if Chantry sisters can be involved in brewing._

The lazy thought gave way to more serious ones. Samarra looked around the room, a knot in her throat. Though there was time yet, soon some of these people she sat with, talked with, laughed with would die. Though she had tried smoothing the path that would lead to minimal losses, Samarra knew that some people would die. They would have to, in order for the majority to flee safely, in order for Helena and the Inner Circle to escape.

The mead turned bitter in her mouth, and burned her throat when she swallowed.

She pushed it out of her mind. There were other matters to attend to. Tomorrow they would discuss what Helena was to do next. She knew the Herald had already met with Krem - she was totally disappointed she had missed meeting her cinnamon bun, but Helena had told her that the man had been eager to rejoin his group, and had departed Haven soon after their conversation. She’d also heard from Helena that several templars from Therinfal had joined the Inquisition. The brunette had praised Cullen, telling Samarra that the Commander had approached a templar called Ser Barris, and reasoned with him. As a result, Barris’ team, as well as a second group, had broken away from the Order and had joined Haven. Samarra was to meet with the templars tomorrow - Cullen had told her that Barris wanted to meet her.

When she and Helena stumbled back to their room, they were both in high spirits - literally and figuratively, thanks to Sera having snuck a bottle of incredibly potent whiskey from the tavern cellars. They giggled over every small thing as they tried to undress for bed, stumbling over their own two feet before finally giving up and throwing themselves onto their cots.

“You liiiiiike Cullen,” Samarra teased the Herald, her words slurring.

“Noooooooooo,” Helena half-heartedly denied. “What about you? I knowwwww you liiiiike the apostate,” she chortled. 

“Boooooooo,” Samarra slurred. “Maaaaaaaaaybeeee. He’s kind of cute.” With that, she promptly passed out, unaware that Helena hadn’t heard her… but that Solas, who had been sent to check up on them, had.

And she most certainly was not aware of the very wolfish look he had as he heard her drunken confession.

* * *

They were gathered around the war table, hotly arguing.

“We must help the mages!” Leliana declared. “Redcliffe Castle under the control of a Tevinter magister? It it madness! It cannot be allowed!”

“Which is why we need to approach the templars first!” Cullen argued. “Not only will they help the Herald close the Breach, they would be the best people to stand up to the Tevinter mages!”

“Are the templars even willing to talk to us?” Helen interjected.

Cullen flushed. “Not really. The Ambassador had an idea on how to approach them, however.”

Josephine spoke up. “I will rally support among the nobles. Many of them have heard of the Inquisition’s deeds, and the behaviour of the templars at Val Royeaux. Stir them up enough, and they will offer support to the Inquisition in demanding that the templars aid us in closing the Breach.”

Samarra quietly listened to everyone’s comments. Finally, she spoke up. “Have we heard anything from Redcliffe?” she asked.

All eyes turned to her. “No,” Josephine said. “There has been no communication from either the magister or the former Grand Enchanter.”

She sighed. _Can’t act against them until Alexius invites Helena for the negotiation. And I don’t think Dorian has arrived yet, either. We need his knowledge of the tunnels._

“Has Dorian Pavus arrived yet?”

Leliana gave her a curious look. “No. He will be here in two day’s time. My agents have had to take a longer route in order to deflect suspicion.”

“Well then,” she said, with a forced smile, gripping the edges of the war table tightly. “I don’t think we have many options at the moment.”

Helena placed a hand over hers. “I would like to hear your thoughts, Samarra,” she said gently.

Samarra sifted through all the information she had, wondering what she should offer and what she should withhold. Finally, she sighed. “This information cannot go beyond these walls,” she began, then cast a soundproof barrier over the room. “Helena, if you remember, I mentioned that you have options, for help with the Breach?”

Helena nodded. “You said we’d discuss it when we returned to Haven.”

“Yeah. The truth is this. You can either help the mages, or the templars. Not both. If you approach one side, the other will immediately cut off all contact with us, and refuse to aid us - or even listen to us. The good news is, either side can help you close the Breach. The mages can provide more power to the Anchor. The templars will suppress the magic of the Breach enough so that the power that the Anchor has is sufficient to close it.” She trailed off.

“But?” Helena prompted.

“It will take time to get the templars to talk to us. It will be some time before we can approach the mages. Alexius will send an invitation for Helena, which would be the best time for us to attack. For the moment, the only thing Helena has to decide on is which side to approach,” she finished, an unhappy look on her face.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen exhaled. “I cannot believe that the templars would refuse to help us if we were to approach the mages. Perhaps we should focus our efforts on approaching the templars. The Oracle has stated that they can help close the Breach. It would be unwise to add more power to a mark that already has unknown magic.”

“If we do nothing to help the mages, they will end up as slaves to Tevinter,” Leliana argued.

“Or worse, this magister could use Redcliffe as a base to launch an attack against Ferelden,” Cassandra added.

Helena looked torn. “What do you think we should do?” she asked Samarra.

Samarra shook her head. “I told you, remember, that I can only offer you the information I know. The decision is yours to make.”

“She will be biased,” Cullen scoffed. “Being a mage herself, no doubt she would side with her kind.”

Samarra looked at Cullen. “ _My kind_?” she echoed. “Pray tell me, Commander, what you mean by my kind. I was always under the impression that us mages were _people_ , but I think you have a different definition.”

Cullen flushed, as the five women stared down at him. “My apologies, Oracle,” he muttered. “I did not mean to offend you.”

“Do all the templars think that way too,” she asked, not letting him off the hook. “Will Haven still be safe to walk around? Do I have to worry about the few mages in Haven? Will Ellandra, Solas and myself be harassed by them? What about when Vivienne and Dorian join us?”

He turned bright red. “Not at all, my lady. I will personally talk to them,” he promised.

“See that you do,” Helena added. “I would not want anyone to feel uncomfortable.”

There was silence in the room as everyone studied the map, pondering over their options and the information Samarra had given them. “Well,” Helena sighed. “I can’t make up my mind just yet. I have time, right?” she looked to Samarra for confirmation.

“Yes,” she replied.

“In that case, let’s put this aside for the moment, and focus on other matters. Is there anything else for us to do, Leliana?” the brunette asked.

“There is the matter of approaching the mercenary group,” Leliana reminded Helena. “They wish for you to see them in action, and have asked that you travel to the Storm Coast.”

“What do you think, Samarra? Is it worth recruiting this Iron Bull?” Helena asked her.

 _It will be worthwhile having all of the Inner Circle in Haven when Corypheus strikes_. She felt her arm tingling, and moments later had a vision. They were all clustered in the Chantry, as the enemy - she could not make out who, they were all dark shadows and outlines at the moment - was close to overrunning Haven. She saw Helena commanding the Chargers to hold the Chantry, as the villagers made their way to safety. Iron Bull, and the rest of the Inner Circle, were tasked with targeting the third trebuchet. She saw Bull easily slicing through the enemy, carving a path out for the Herald and the others.

 _Okay, yeah, definitely need some Horns Up in here_. “Yes,” Samarra replied, once she had exited from the vision. “He and his men will be of great help. There is only one problem, though.”

“What?” Helena asked.

“Iron Bull is a Qunari, part of the Ben Hassrath.” Leliana gave a sharp exhale, and Samarra turned towards her. “Yeah, I know. But, he will be upfront and honest about it. He will also share the intelligence he gets from Seheron with you, Leliana.”

“But he will also be reporting to them,” Leliana deduced, her eyes sharp.

“Yes,” she shrugged. “He will say he will only give them enough to keep them happy. But you are good, Leliana, and I’m sure you can limit the kind of information he receives.”

“Is it worth hiring a Qunari spy?” Cullen asked.

“It will be worth is,” she answered. “My vision tells me there will be a battle,” she said vaguely, “but I do not know where or when. It shows me that Iron Bull will be of great help.”

“A battle? Against who? Is it the mages? Or the templars? Will Tevinter attack us?” Cassandra demanded.

She gave the Seeker a stony look. “I just said that I don’t know where or when,” she complained. 

“This is worrying,” Leliana commented. “We must be prepared. Your suggestion of seeking out an alternate escape route bore fruit, seeress. Chancellor Roderick was indeed able to point us to a hidden, unused path. I believe it was used for the Summer Pilgrimage. It is mostly disused tunnels at the moment, but I will look into reinforcing them.” The spymaster finished, giving Samarra a shrewd look.

“You might also want to store some supplies in there,” Samarra commented, off-hand. “If there is an evacuation in the future, it would be helpful for us to have sufficient supplies.”

The spymaster gave her a calculating look, and she tried not to shiver. “A good idea. Let us hope we will not need it,” she stated, her eyes flickering over Samarra’s face for a reaction. Samarra remained politely cool. “It is always better to be safe than sorry,” she said.

“I will make sure our men are ready,” Cullen stated. “Ser Barris, Ser Carroll and Ser Fletcher can help train the recruits. Josephine, have we made arrangements to obtain lyrium for the templars?” he asked the Ambassador.

“I have made the necessary arrangements,” Josephine replied.

Samarra frowned. _Isn’t it better to get them to stop taking lyrium?_ She quirked a brow at Cullen questioningly. He subtly shook his head no, and she understood that he didn’t think the newcomers were ready to begin the process yet. 

She also knew when the time came for them to make the decision, Cullen would stand beside them and help them through the journey.

“So,” Helena spoke up. “I guess we’re looking at a trip to the Storm Coast.”

“Looks like it,” Samarra said with a smile.

“I’ll take the newcomers with me,” Helena said decisively. “You, Cassandra, Solas and Varric can relax, you’ve been on the road for too long.”

“Ahhh…” Samarra began. “I have to warn you. I don’t think Vivienne and Sera will get along well.”

Helena shrugged. “They’re grown women. How bad can it be? No, I’ve made up my mind. Apparently it’s really important for me to go, but doesn’t mean the rest of you have to suffer.” She gave Leliana an aggrieved look. “Do I really have to go? Can’t we just tell them we’ve decided to hire them, and get them to come here?”

_Actually… why not? It would take ten days for a return trip to the Coast, plus the time spent there, makes two weeks. Instead of making Helena go all the way there, then return, why can’t they just come here directly? Krem already did, right? If Leliana can get a message to him, he can just inform Bull they’ve been hired…_

_But what about the whole Ben-Hassrath speech?_

_I’m sure Leliana and Helena can talk to him when he gets here…._

_And then he’ll start to sniff you out, and not just because he likes redheads. You’ll have to deal with him, too._

_Fucking shit._

_You can use the time to think. There’s a lot of work for you to do, remember?_

“It’s best that you meet them for yourself,” Samarra said. “If you hire him outright, he might not tell you what he is. And he’s smart. He’ll figure it out for himself that you already knew about him being Ben-Hassrath. He’ll do some digging, and find out that it was me who outed him. I mean, he’ll figure out my vision thing eventually, but if we do it wrong, he’ll get really suspicious, and report back to Seheron about me… and let’s just say the Qunari don’t really like mages. They might see me as a threat.” When she finished her speech, she realized how true it was.

“I didn’t think of that,” Helena said after a short silence. “You’re sure we can trust him?”

“You can rely on him, yes. As for trust… you might want to be cautious. Don’t give him anything you don’t want the Qunari to know. Don’t give him anything that could be used against you.”

“Maybe this Iron Bull isn’t such a good idea,” Cullen muttered.

_He’s just a confused soul who will discover himself in the Inquisition. If he makes the right decision. If he chooses to sacrifice the Chargers… I’ll have to immediately warn the others about him._

“If he turns out to be dangerous, I will warn you immediately,” Samarra promised, and that seemed to mollify the Commander.

When the meeting ended, Samarra spied Cullen stop Helena for a talk, and her stomach twisted. _I hope he’s not trying to convince Helena to side with the templars. The mages need us more. Please. You can’t let Fiona die. Alistair hasn’t met his mother yet. Please._

She saw Helena shake her head, and hold out her hands, and walk away from Cullen. Cullen’s eyes met hers, and he didn’t look happy.

She sighed. _Looks like we have another problem to solve._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100K words and we _still_ haven't gotten to the mage/templar decision yet. Yikes. It'll happen soon, though.
> 
> (Also, I really, really can't believe I've written 100K words already. Whoopies?)


	36. What Can Be Worse Than Being Helpless?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing worse than knowing the terrible things that are to come and being helpless when it comes to preventing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

** POV Samarra **

She needed a drink. No, scratch that. She needed several very large drinks. After what she’d just discovered, she needed a drink, or she needed to find a way out of Thedas, stat.

Only one of them was immediately possible.

She headed for the tavern, asking Flissa for the largest bottle of rum the barkeep had in her stores. The woman tried to argue with her, but Samarra just repeated her need for said bottle of rum over and over till Flissa finally gave in. She slapped the coin to pay for it on the counter, and strode out of the tavern, ignoring Varric’s concerned calls.

She ignored Solas as he stood outside his hut, eyeing the bottle in her hand, escaping into her cottage before he could say anything. She shut and locked the door and the windows, covering them in the strongest barrier she could manage, before pulling out the cork from the bottle and taking a mighty swig.

No one could really blame her. She was stuck in the worst world state Thedas could offer.

Aedan Cousland was married to Anora. He hadn’t left to find a cure for the Calling. Oh, and apparently he was still cavorting with Leliana! Yes, she’d played the male Cousland that way, but that kind of entanglement was all fine and fun in the game, but a nightmare to handle in real life. Especially since it involved Leliana, a woman ruthless enough to cut off her tongue if she was worried Samarra would say or do something wrong.

That was just the beginning.

There were TWO Champions of Kirkwall. That’s right, two. Marian and Garrett Hawke, who were twins. Turns out Leandra had two sets of twins. And it was Bethany who died as they made their escape. Samarra didn’t understand it. She’d played several Marians and several Garretts (all with different names, of course), but how could it be that BOTH of them existed in this universe? Marian was a dual-wield rogue, while Garrett was a mage. If what she suspected was correct, then Garrett would be a blood mage. The only mage Garrett she’d played had been a blood mage. Which was all fine and good _in a game_ but she wasn’t sure how to feel about it in real life. Blood magic was just magic, but… the idea of someone using blood to fuel magic kind of scared her, if she was being honest with herself. Marian was apparently engaged to Sebastian, who was - surprise, surprise - Prince of Starkhaven. She didn’t know who Garrett was with, and Varric’s Tales of a Champion didn’t have anything about it. The Hawke twins, and their companions, had all faced off against the Arishok and his men, with the twins landing the killing blow simultaneously - which was why they were jointly crowned Champion.

The book was suspiciously vague about Anders. She had a nasty feeling there was a Grey Warden abomination wandering around Thedas. If the man had regrouped with the Wardens...

And Samarra knew what all this meant. Not just a Hawke/Alistair choice, but _which_ Hawke was now uncertain. _What if it was both Hawkes? What the fuck should I do then?_ She took another swig from the bottle, enjoying the burn down her throat, the pleasant warmth in her veins.

There were _so many fucking things_ she couldn’t predict in this world. She’d been so smug when she first started out. Now, she was lucky if she knew whether or not she was going to be able to take a shit that day.

Another swig.

She couldn’t save Haven. Couldn’t save everyone in it. She’d had visions, could tell who was going to die. She couldn’t face the soldiers, couldn’t look them in the eye as the cheerfully greeted her in the morning. Couldn’t tell Jonah that he’d never see his baby girl. Couldn’t tell Mikaela that she would be a widow by the end of the year. All their pain, their sorrow, their grief, it all burned within her, it churned and twisted in her mind, as she tried to untangle and decipher what she knew, and what she was shown. Nothing worked. She couldn’t save them all. Each time she tried, it always ended the same way - Corypheus and his army tracking them down in the valley of the Frostbacks, and slaughtering them all. Some lives had to be sacrificed to protect the many. She could understand that.

One swig. Two swigs. Three swigs.

But she couldn’t live with it, couldn’t bear to have it zipping around in her head. 

Another mouthful of the alcohol. Swallow. Repeat.

How was she supposed to live with all this knowledge? To know who would live, and who would die? To know what would happen next? These weren’t just NPCs. These weren’t just some characters in some game. This was no game. These were people, with hopes, dreams, people they loved, people who loved them. How was she supposed to face them each day, knowing they would die? Knowing _how_ they would die? Knowing that there was nothing she could do, nothing _anyone_ could do about it?

She tried to take another swig, and swore when she discovered the empty bottle. She staggered her way to the door, flinging it open, heading straight for the tavern.

‘Another bottle, Flissa,” she said, speaking slowly so she could enunciate each word distinctly.

“You’ve had quite enough, my lady,” Flissa refused.

“Flissa,” she pleaded. “Please. I need it.”

The barkeep hesitated, then turned towards the person on Samarra’s left. A person she hadn’t even noticed approach the counter. “Go ahead. I’ll keep an eye on her. Put it on my tab, will you?” a familiar voice piped up. She turned slowly, blinking owlishly till Varric’s face became clear. “Thanks, Varric,” she slurred, ever so slightly. “You’re a real bro, you know that?”

Varric took the bottle from Flissa, and keeping a firm hand on Samarra’s elbow, lead her out of the tavern, away from curious eyes and wagging tongues. “What’s the matter, Crimson?” he asked bluntly, when they stood outside her room.

“You don’t understand,” she shook her head. She grabbed the bottle from Varric, popped open the cork with her teeth, and took a swig, sighing as she felt the soothing burn down her throat. “They _die_ Varric,” she whispered as softly as she could, but it was still fairly loud.

Varric pushed her into the cottage, sharing a concerned glance with Solas as he did so. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Who dies? Helena?”

She shook her head again. “Not Helena. Won’t let her. Can’t let her. Can’t tell you. Gotta do this. All by. Myself.” she took another swallow. “You. Gotta leave. I want to. Need to. Be. Alone.”

“As long as you stay put in this room,” he countered.

“Sure,” she rolled the word over her tongue.

He walked out, shutting the door behind him. Solas stood outside, his forehead furrowed in concern. “Is she well?” the elven mage asked.

“Something’s eating at her. Some kind of vision. Claims someone’s going to die. Man, that must be horrible,” Varric shuddered, “seeing that kind of crap. She needs a break. Keep an eye on her, will you? I don’t want someone taking advantage of her like this. I’m sure our spymaster isn’t above trying to glean a secret or two from our resident seeress in her incapacitated situation,” he muttered darkly.

“I will watch over her,” Solas assured the dwarf. He watched the dwarf depart, and made his way over to Samarra’s room. Trying the doorknob, he was surprised to find it unlocked. He opened the door, to find Samarra curled up in the middle of the room, quietly sobbing. He shut the door behind him, and barricaded it securely.

“Samarra?” he called out gently. “What is the matter, _da’lan_?”

“Stop calling me a child!” she shrieked, and he winced at the sound. 

“My apologies, I did not mean to aggravate you,” he soothed. “What is the matter?” he asked, crouching down next to her and rubbing her back soothingly.

To his surprise, she choked on a sob, then flung her arms around his neck tightly. “They _die_ , Solas!” she wept. “I saw them die. They don’t want to, but they do anyway. I can’t stop it from happening. Everything gets worse if I try to stop it. I have to see them every day and smile and them and not tell them that they’re going to die, that they won’t see their children, their families. They’re planning for happy things and I have to listen to their plans and inside I know that they’ll never have a chance to make those plans come true. How do I live with this?” she cried out, clutching her head and shaking it as though to get the knowledge out. “The Elder One will take so many lives, and there’s nothing I can do about it!”

He froze at the mention of the Elder One. “Who is this Elder One?” he asked sternly. "What is he planning to do? Is he going to attack the Herald?

She pulled back, her eyes suddenly very clear, and Solas was disconcerted. “I thought you were here to help,” she hiccupped, “but I was wrong. You thought you could find out what I knew, because I’m drunk. I keep thinking you’re a nice person, but you know what? Fuck you, Solas. Fuck you. How fucking dare you. Get out!” she said, screaming when he refused to budge. “Get out! I WANT YOU TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM RIGHT NOW!”

He rose quickly, not wanting to attract the attention of the patrolling guards. Even though most of the people in Haven trusted him, he didn’t want to be drawn into an uncomfortable situation - as this could easily turn into. “I will leave,” he said calmly. “If you need anything, you have but to ask.”

She turned those uncomfortably clear eyes to his once again. “I do not need anything from you, Solas,” she slurred, her voice so at odds with the clarity in her eyes. “Not now, not ever. Now get out.”

He left, shutting the door firmly behind him. He placed a ward over the door, correctly assuming she was in no condition to lock the door. Once he was certain that she would do no harm to herself, he returned to his cottage, disconcerted by the little he’d come to find out, and the idea that there was so much more she kept hidden.

* * *

** POV Varric **

Varric wasn’t usually the kind to worry, but seeing Samarra adamantly trying to get drunk was definitely something to worry about. Sure, the woman enjoyed her mead, and could handle her drink, but there was something about the way she ruthlessly chased after and sought out the bottle of booze, as though she was trying to escape from something. From what he knew of her - and he’d gotten a fair read on her - she wasn’t the sort to try and run from something, she’d always tried to look for a solution.

So to know that there was something so terrible that the woman couldn’t find a way around it was… definitely worrying.

He pondered over her words as he downed his ale, his eyes wandering around the tavern. _They die_ , she’d said ominously. From her words, it wasn’t the Herald in trouble. And she’d said _they_ die, not _you_ die, so he was fairly positive he was going to be okay.

He’d keep an eye out, just in case though. Times like these, one couldn’t be careful enough.

There was something niggling in the back of his mind. He didn’t try to prod it, knowing it would come to the front when it was ready to. He lazily noted the occupants of the tavern, easily picking out Leliana’s scouts, and the new templars who had joined the Inquisition. _I wonder how Marian and Garrett would feel. They weren’t too fond of the templars…_ Varric froze in shock as that niggling thought made itself known.

It was the book on Samarra’s bed that had caught his attention.

It looked as though it had been flung away, as though something in it had horrified her.

He could see the familiar script of the title, the colors on the cover he’d chosen himself.

It was his book.

It was _Tales of the Champion._

 _They die, Varric_. He could hear her tear-filled voice.

They die. They die. They die. The words resonated in his head over and over again.

He pushed back his chair violently, ignoring the loud scrape it gave, ignoring the sheets of papers scattered on the table that held details of his latest manuscript, and stalked his way over to her room. He found the elf standing outside, in the middle of some magical mumbo-jumbo.

“Where is she?” he harshly demanded.

Solas raised his eyebrows at his tone. “Samarra is sleeping,” he said calmly, and for a moment Varric wanted to throttle the elf for his constantly serene countenance. “I believe she may have passed out.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t considered that. He remembered how distraught she’d looked, how shaken up and torn up she’d sounded. _Gotta do this all by myself_ , she’d said.

If anyone could, it was Samarra.

But that wasn’t going to stop him from having a little chat with the Oracle in the morning.

* * *

** POV Solas **

He stood outside her door, listening to the sound of her sobbing.

He felt… guilty.

He wasn’t used to feeling that way. Especially since he hadn’t _really_ done anything wrong…

He sighed. His ears perked up, registering the sudden lack of sound. He was tempted to peek inside, but the sound of footsteps approaching had him scrambling to cover her door in a barrier.

She wanted her privacy. It was only fair that he give it to her.

He raised his eyebrows as an angry dwarf stomped his way over, and asked for her. He informed Varric that she had gone to sleep. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but he had no way of confirming the truth of the statement. It seemed to calm the dwarf down, however, and he walked away. Solas waited until he was out of view, then returned to his cabin.

She had been so angry. She’d gotten angry at him before, had been irritated, and frustrated even, but she had never been vicious. It was as though she were a wild animal; a false move and she would have ripped him to shreds.

He shifted uncomfortably as he remembered what she’d said to him. _I keep thinking you’re a nice person_. It had come as a surprise to him. He’d been so sure she harbored some animosity towards him, but apparently he’d been wrong.

Well, till date anyway. He wasn’t sure she’d feel the same way if she woke up tomorrow and remembered what happened.

He had the strangest of urges to return to her room, and apologize. To beg pardon for his thoughtlessness, his trying to take advantage of her state. The dwarf had wanted to protect her from the spymaster, but he’d never even thought that Solas would do the same… She had been crying so bitterly. It had been so uncharacteristic of her. She’d always seemed so strong. She did what she had to do, however unpleasant it was, with minimal complaints. But something she’d seen had traumatized and tortured her into breaking down.

His fists clenched. Corypheus would pay. He would make sure the magister paid for his atrocities in kind.

_Fuck you, Solas._

_I do not need anything from you. Not now, not ever._

His pride bristled as her words reverberated in his head. They stung, because some part of him knew the truth to her words. She would not need him. She could make her own way, should she so desire to. 

If she did, he would lose any control over her. He would lost any chance of swaying her to his side. And he could not afford that, could not allow that. She was talented. In a few short months she had mastered her magic to that of advanced mages. Her healing skills were formidable. Her thirst for knowledge was insatiable.

And she was a mystery. He’d watched her, unobserved, as she trained with the spymaster. She moved around the field in a manner reminiscent to the _rasdalelan_ of his times. How was that possible? He’d seen what Leliana had taught her; standard attacks and defenses. But what the spymaster hadn’t realized was that her student knew so much more. Her body was supple and flexible, and she twisted and turned it, using the movements to her advantage. When she bore her blades and shifted around the grounds, it was a sinuous, graceful dance, a deadly prelude to death from her hand.

And why had she wanted to learn? “Oh, Leliana’s offered to teach me. How can I say no?” she’d bubbled enthusiastically.

He hadn’t believed her for a second.

He couldn’t afford to let her slip away. But his pride rankled, and he knew he would find a way to calm it.

If he was patient, if he planned carefully… there would come a time when Samarra would come to him, begging for his help. And then… he would ask her to pay a price that would soothe his pride.

All he had to do was wait.

* * *

** POV Samarra **

The morning saw her in a state of dishevel she’d never reached before. Her tunic reeked of stale sweat and booze, her mouth was drier than the Sahara, her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. Tear stains marked her face, and her hair looked like several birds had made their home in it.

She sat up, groaning as her stiff muscles complained. She stretched slowly, leisurely, trying to piece together what had happened the night before. She’d been reading some of the books she’d bought…

It all came flooding down on her. Aedan. Twin Hawkes. Alistair.

She gripped her head as the thoughts assaulted her head. She remembered now. This shitty world state. Her feelings of utter helplessness. 

She really, really wanted out. 

_How can I deal with this. I can’t. How can I even begin to prepare for this? Where do I start?_

It concerned her that her usually argumentative mental voice was conspicuously silent.

_How do I stop the choice? How can I circumvent it? How do I prevent their deaths?_

No answer.

She picked herself off the floor, and made her way to the vanity, blinking at her reflection in the small mirror. She performed her ablutions mechanically. Brush teeth. Bathe. Comb hair. Dress. When she looked more human, she debated on what to do next. She remembered Varric trying to pacify her… _and Solas trying to interrogate her._

The bastard.

She really didn’t feel like facing either of them today. She really didn’t feel like doing anything today. And judging by the fact that the Nightingale hadn’t dragged her out of her room towards the training grounds, she knew that Leliana had heard of her inebriated state, and had mercifully given her the day off.

She could get behind that.

Her stomach rumbled, and she hesitated. She wanted food, but she didn’t want to go to the tavern, and risk coming across either of the two men…

There was a knock on her door. Samarra carefully opened it a sliver, letting out a small groan when she spotted Varric standing outside… with a plate of food. The smell of the rich stew made her stomach rumble again, and she flushed. Varric grinned at her knowingly. “Gotta let me in if you want the food, Crimson,” he stated cheerfully.

Grumbling, she opened the door wider, and let him in. Shutting the door firmly behind her, she practically snatched the bowl from his hands, and began spooning the liquid into her mouth, giving a pleased sigh.

“Easy there,” Varric cautioned. “Don’t need you choking on that.”

“Don’t worry,” she replied through a mouthful of stew.

There were several moments of silence. Samarra wondered why Varric was here, and tried to remember whether she’d given away anything inadvertently. Nothing came to her mind, so instead she waited for the dwarf to speak.

“About last night,” he began hesitantly.

“I made a bit of a fool of myself, I know. I’m sorry about that. I’ll pay you back for the booze.”

He made a dismissive gesture. “Don’t worry about it.” More silence. He exhaled heavily. “Look, I’m going to come right out and ask. Some stuff you said last night… worried the shit out of me.”

“What’d I say?” she asked cautiously.

“You said, and I quote, ‘they die.’ Now, I’m not sure what that vision of yours showed, but… you gotta tell me. Does this have anything to do with Marian and Garrett?”

“The Hawkes?” she looked at him. _How did he reach that conclusion? How much does he know? How much did I tell him?_ “Why would you think that?”

“Come on now, Crimson. You were reading my book. Soon after that, you try your damnedest to get absolutely shitfaced. You tell me, ‘they die’. If you smell nugshit, you best believe there’s a nug somewhere around.”

She could see he was trying his hardest not to let his worry come through. She knew how much the Hawkes meant to him.

No matter how much she wanted to console him, she couldn’t afford to. She’d already let something slip out. Giving out more of her knowledge could make things worse. If she let Varric know that the Hawkes were involved, the dwarf might refuse to contact them after they reached Skyhold. It was a possibility she could not allow.

“I wasn’t talking about the Hawkes, Varric,” she huffed. “Besides, I thought that their whereabouts was unknown?” she asked shrewdly.

He flushed. “Yeah, well…”

“You can’t just assume stuff, you know? Especially when you don’t have the entire picture, like I do,” she tapped her forehead.

“You can keep that crazy shit to yourself. I’ve seen what it makes you do,” he replied grimly.

“It’s not easy,” she confessed. “But I had my freakout last night. Today… I guess it’s time to get back to business.” When she said it out loud, she realized how true it was. _I can’t do anything about the Hawkes for now. Or Alistair. Right now, I’ll have to focus on Aedan. I’m sure he’s hearing the false Calling too. But I have to find a way to warn him._

She realized Varric was staring at her. “Lost in your world, were you?” he grinned.

“Doesn’t that Tevinter mage arrive today,” she asked, deflecting the subject. They walked out of the hut together, discussing people from Tevinter in general. He was in the middle of telling her about Danarius when she caught sight of Solas out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head towards him deliberately, letting him know she remembered what he tried to do last night.

He had the grace to look slightly ashamed. But his eyes blazed at her, burning with something that both worried and scared her.

It was Pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> rasdalelan - assassin/shadow killer
> 
> * * *
> 
> Next chapter: Bull! :D
> 
> I just realized that things move along a little faster post the first main quest. Let me know if you think I'm being a little too drag-gy with the storyline!


	37. A Druffalo Isn't The Only Creature With Horns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The_ Iron Bull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: multiple times a week (or trying to!)
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

** POV Helena **

The trip to the Storm Coast was miserable. She missed her companions, missed Varric’s stories and jokes, and the way he relentlessly teased Cassandra. She missed listening in to Samarra and Solas’ discussions, even though she couldn’t fully follow what they were talking about. She missed the companionship she felt, and how easily she’d slip into banter with them, and all the silly games they would play to pass the time.

Instead, she had a bratty child and a snooty mage constantly sniping at each other, and it gave her a headache. The time on the road was spent mostly in silence, which was a welcome change from Sera threatening to shoot an arrow at the First Enchanter, or Vivienne mocking Sera about her clothes, her accent, her upbringing. Blackwall kept mostly to himself, not wanting to get caught up in the argument, and Helena couldn’t blame him. The two women were tiresome, and for the hundredth time she found herself wishing that she had listened to Samarra’s warning and chosen a different party to accompany her.

Thankfully, they’d be at the Inquisition camp by the end of the day, which meant that she could get to the Chargers, recruit them quickly, and get out of the stupid Coast, with its insufferable constant rain, and get back to Haven, and back to people she actually enjoyed spending time with.

“Look at you, all serious,” she heard Sera say to Blackwall. “What do wardens do when there’s no Blight, anyway?”

“Whatever it takes to keep the world safe,” Blackwall rumbled.

“Like join Inquisitions.”

“If that’s what’s necessary. Hey, you’re here too.”

The young blond elf laughed. “The Inquisition can’t be all broody beards like you and Cassandra,” she quipped.

“She doesn’t have the hair for it,” Blackwall replied, his moustache twitching, a tell-tale indicator he was trying to suppress a smile.

Sera cackled. “Oh, I bet she does. Places.”

Vivienne gave a disgusted sniff, but Helena couldn’t help chuckling. Perhaps there was some hope yet…

“Oi, all touched Lady Herald! You always this quiet and mopey? Sure didn’t seem that way when we first met.”

Helena sighed. “Just got a lot on my mind, Sera.”

“Bet it’s a certain someone. It’s the jackboot, innit? Heard the rumors. Seen him gaping at you, too.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Helena flushed.

Sera cackled again. “ ‘S’wat they all say. Next thing you know, you’ll be bumping bits. Not a shabby looking fella, at least. Not my type, but I can see how he’d do it for ya. It’s a templar connection innit?”

“I’m no longer part of the Order,” Helena stiffly replied. 

“Neither is he. Point still holds.”

“Sera, my dear, I wonder if that mouth of yours ever gets tired,” Vivienne sniffed. “Perhaps some silence on your part will help your brain regain some of it’s function. I cannot imagine the constant chattering could do it any good.”

“Oh look, it’s Miss Fancypants spouting off again, right on schedule… “

Helena spurred her mount onwards to escape the argument.

* * *

It hadn’t stopped raining. Helena was amazed that the sky could hold so much water. It was a small mercy that it no longer beat down on them, instead misting over them in a fine spray. She debated putting on her helm; even though it was bulky, it would offer some protection against the rain. Sighing, she decided against it, knowing that she would feel silly if she chose to.

The First Enchanter daintily picked her way through the mossy rocks and the sodden grass, making a disgusted face at the squelching sound that her boots made each time they stepped into the mud. The woman had borne the harshness of life on the road decently well, given how much luxury the she was used to. Still, there was the occasional comment about the dreariness of the place, and her lodgings, and her companions… Vivienne certainly didn’t speak often, but each time she spoke it was never something pleasant, and Helena was certainly getting tired of the woman’s voice.

They made their way down to the shore, where the scouts had spotted the mercenary group. As they inched closer to the beach, Helena could make out sounds of fighting. _Probably those Tevinter mercenaries Cremisius was talking about_. The fellow had craftily pointed out that his company commander had offered the information free of charge, and it certainly had thrown his mercenary company in a more positive light with Cullen.

She could make out the qunari - Iron Bull - even from this distance. The man positively towered over the others, swinging a massive axe the with a head the size of her torso, and brought it down on a hapless opponent, cleaving the Tevinter merc cleanly in half. He was easily eight feet tall, with grey-brown skin, a frame so muscular one wondered if he’d even heard the word fat. Every muscle the man owned was chiseled and defined. His skin was scarred, and he displayed them for the world to see, as though each one was a badge of honor. He wore minimal armor - Helena wasn’t sure if his ridiculous palazzo pants could even be called armor, and his chest was bare - but he took every blow dealt to him without flinching, even laughing once as an arrow literally bounced off his chest.

So, the man wore armor. She just wasn’t sure what kind it was.

He turned his head towards her, and she noticed, discomfited, that he wore an eyepatch over his left eye. Helena wondered the story behind it, wondering what could have happened that could possibly have caused this hulking beast-tank of a man to lose an eye. She wondered if Samarra knew.

His jaw and chin was covered in stubble, and he sported a mustache - nothing even remotely resembling the extremely fancy one that Tevinter altus was sporting. This was more rough and grizzly… the kind she’d probably expect a soldier of fortune to have. 

As they got closer, she noticed he was rather handsome, in a very primitive, brutal way. The kind of man every woman probably dreamt of bedding at least once, but would be wary of marrying. _Can’t quite see him with Samarra. She’s too… civilized for him. Oh, Maker, was that rude of me? I hope not. I’m sure this man is really intelligent too. But I can’t picture her with him. She really does fit well with Solas. She’s nicer than him, though. I wonder if Sera would be interested? She did seem to find it fascinating he was qunari._ Helena chuckled to herself at the absurd turn her thoughts had taken.

Vivienne made a disgusted sound. “Barbarian,” she sniffed. “I do hope we won’t have to associate with them, my dear.”

“It’s what we’re here for,” Helena replied grimly, not bothering to look at the older woman.

“Whatever for, my dear? Surely the Inquisition has no need for some disreputable mercenaries. Whatever would the nobles think?”

“I don’t see those poncies offer to fight,” Sera quipped. “They can stuff it, yeah? And you too. The Herald knows what she’s doing.”

“Based on a vision this Oracle had, no doubt,” Vivienne commented, distain dripping from each word. “Tell me, my dear, are you not concerned over that _apostate_? From what I am given to understand, she only came into her magical abilities at the Breach. For someone to have gained such mastery of their talent through _natural_ means is rarely heard of. I would be surprised if these visions of hers are a result of… less savory means, shall we say?”

“What exactly are you trying to imply, Lady Vivienne?,” Helena gritted her teeth.

“My dear, I only mean to open your mind to possibilities. It is wise to consider a matter from all sides, is it not?”

_Fuck you, bitch. I know what game you’re trying to play. It won’t work._

“We’ll talk about this later. We’ve got some Tevinter bastards to take care of,” Helena hissed, and charged into the fray, drawing her sword in a single swift motion.

The battle was over quickly, the Tevinter men not standing a chance between the Inquisition members and the Bull’s Chargers. _Those bastards fight dirty_ , Helena thought, wincing slightly as she peeled off her armor for Vivienne to heal the wound on her side. One of the rogue assassins had nearly gotten her; it had been the qunari who had yelled out the warning that had saved her life. Helena tried not to glower at Vivienne; the woman had thrown the barest of barriers over her, when Helena was used to the ones Solas and Samarra had constantly kept her covered in. If Vivienne had cast a decent barrier over her, Helena wouldn’t have taken the blow from the assassin.

She’d probably count herself lucky the First Enchanter was deigning to heal her wounds. Poor Sera had had to seek out the Chargers’ healer - Stitches, she thought his name was - for the arrow she’d taken to the thigh. Although, if she was to be fair, Sera had a strong fear of magic, and probably wouldn’t have let Vivienne anywhere near her.

“Krem! How’d we do?” Helena heard the rough, booming voice of the qunari easily, even over the roar of the sea.

“Five or six wounded, chief,” Krem reported. “No dead.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Let the throatcutters finish up, then break out the casks.”

Helena hobbled her way over to the qunari. “Shouldn’t we discuss business before drinking?” she said pleasantly. 

“So, you’re with the Inquisition, huh?” Iron Bull gave her a quick appraisal, and seemed to approve of what he saw. “Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat.”

“You came highly recommended,” Helena commented, seating herself on a flat, damp rock. “Iron Bull, I presume?”

He gave her a sardonic grin. “Yeah. The horns usually give it away.”

“You don’t say,” Helena chuckled. “I can’t see why.”

He chuckled, then turned towards the man walking towards them. “I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant,” he commented.

“Good to see you again,” the lieutenant gave her a quick nod. “Throatcutters are done, chief.” he reported.

“Already?” Bull seemed surprised. “Have ‘em check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offence, Krem,” he snickered.

_The Qunari’s lieutenant was a Tevinter? Helena was surprised and taken aback. Aren’t they supposed to be enemies? I wonder what’s their story?_

“None taken,” Krem quipped back. At least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you qunari, right?”

Helena stifled her gasp, and waited to see what Bull would do. She’d heard of several mercenary companies whose leaders tolerated no backtalk, and would punish any offenders. If Bull was that kind of leader, she wouldn’t recruit his company, no matter what Samarra had said.

Bull only chuckled as Krem walked away, and some of the tension fell away from Helena. “So… you’ve seen us fight,” he began. “We’re expensive, but we’re worth it… and I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

 _Blunt, forthright, doesn’t mince his words_. She was beginning to have a good opinion of this Iron Bull. Remembering that he was a qunari spy, she opted to remain neutral. “How much is this going to cost me, exactly?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t cost you anything personally. Unless you want to buy drinks later,” he winked at her suggestively. “Your ambassador - err, what’s her name? - Josephine? We’d go through her and get the payments set up.” She wasn’t convinced, and she knew he could see it. “The gold will take care of itself, don’t worry about that,” he reassured her. All that matters is that we’re worth it.”

She leaned back and gave him a once-over, looking around the shore to take stock of his men as well. There were about a dozen of them, all of them battle-hardened. She’d seen how they fought, efficiently, without flinching, and they had each other’s backs. 

She thought about what Samarra had told her. _He’s a confused soul who has a chance to discover himself in the Inquisition_ , the garnet-haired woman had told her in private. 

She made up her mind.

“The Chargers seem like an excellent company,” she said with a smile. 

“They are,” Bull said somberly. “But you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me. You need a frontline bodyguard? I’m your man. Whatever it is, demons, dragons… the bigger, the better.” He let out a sigh. “And there’s one other thing. Might be useful, might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Helena lied.

“It’s a Qunari order. They handle information, loyalty, security, all of it. Spies, basically.” He stumbled a bit. “Or well… we’re spies.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, most of it genuine. “Your entire company are spies for the Ben-Hassrath?” she asked.

“No, just me. The boys are their own people.”

“But they know you’re a qunari spy?”

“Yeah. It’s of no matter to them. Doesn’t interfere with what we do, or how good we are at it,” he eyed her coolly. 

“What do the Ben-Hassrath want?”

“They’re concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening.”

Even though Helena had known he would tell her about his being a spy, she was taken aback at just how forthright he was. She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of the ‘get close to the people in charge’ part.

“I… wow,” she said. “Okay. So let me get this straight. You’re going to join the Inquisition, get paid by the Inquisition, and spy on the Inquisition? And in return, we get an expensive mercenary group? Doesn’t seem quite equal to me,” she argued.

He smiled, as though having expected her argument. “I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath agents from all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.”

She tilted her head. “You’re a qunari spy, and you just… told me? That’s not what a spy is supposed to do, is it?”

“Whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it’s bad,” he said grimly. “Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So whatever I am, I’m on your side.”

“You still could have hidden what you are,” Helena countered.

“From something called the Inquisition?” he scoffed. “I’d have been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it right upfront from me.”

“What would you send home in these reports of yours?” she asked suspiciously.

“Enough to keep my superiors happy. Nothing that’ll compromise your operations,” he assured her. “The Qunari want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart,” he continued, a tad bitterly. “You let me send word of what you’re doing, it’ll put some minds at ease. That’s good for everyone.”

_Welp. Samarra didn’t tell me that not hiring Iron Bull could potentially lead to a Qunari invasion. That’s the last fucking thing we need._

“What’s in these Ben-Hassrath reports you’re offering to share?” she asked, trying to hide her uneasiness over a possible Qunari invasion. She knew the Qunari had very nearly taken over Kirkwall. She didn’t want them trying to launch a full-scale attack against Thedas when they already had demons to deal with…

“Enemy movements, suspicious activity, intriguing gossip. It’s a bit of everything,” he replied. “Alone, they’re not much. But if your spymaster is worth a damn, she’ll put ‘em to good use.”

Helena caught on immediately. “She?” she questioned, her brows raised.

The Iron Bull gave a slightly bashful chuckle. “I did a little research. Plus, I’ve always had a weakness for redheads,” he said, waggling his brows.

“Alright, you’re in,” Helena said, “on one condition. _Stay away from the redheads_.”

It was his turn to quirk a brow. “Redheads?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” she muttered. “Just, stay away from them, okay? Trust me, it’s for your own good.”

He gave her a quizzical look, but let the matter drop. “Excellent.” he said, and shook her hand. “Krem!” he boomed out. “Tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired!” He turned back to Helena. “I’ll ride back with you. The rest of the men will meet us there.”

“Great,” she replied. “We set out tomorrow. That work for your men?” 

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about them. They’ll pack up and make their way back to Haven with the supplies.”

“Have it your way,” she shrugged. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the rest of my team. There’s a handful with me; the rest you’ll meet when we get back.”

Sera was practically bouncing off the heels of her feet when she made the introductions, bursting with several dozen questions. Bull had answered them in that easygoing way of his, not taking offence to some of the more… risque… questions she’d asked. The First Enchanter had been snooty as usual, had refused to shake his hand, and seemed determined to ignore his presence. Despite the fact that the Bull was massive, she actually seemed to be succeeding, a fact that rather amazed Helena.

Blackwall and the qunari had gotten along well, the Warden having been a mercenary himself before joining the Order. They traded stories, and soon the lot of them - Vivienne excluded - fell into a sort of camaraderie.

Helena suspected it was the Iron Bull’s presence that made the journey back to Haven far more tolerable, and she made a promise to buy him a drink - or several - for keeping the snooty mage silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought it'd be fun to do a chapter from the Herald's point of view :D I just noticed, that when you first recruit Bull, he _does_ mention something about the Qunari wanting to launch an invasion against the south to deal with the whole Breach thing... _which is what happens in Trespasser..._  
>  The amount of foreboding in the game is off the charts! 
> 
> I have this idea stuck in my head for ages but I can't seem to find the right place to fit it into the story. I don't want to give it up. I hate those kinds of problems, because I can't keep writing unless I solve that matter, boo.


	38. Failing To Plan Is Planning To Fail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barris, Bull and bumptious mages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

Dorian thrived on attention, whether it was negative or positive. He seemed to go deliberately out of his way to antagonize the villagers - and Samarra knew they weren’t exactly blameless themselves. Harritt had actually spat in Dorian’s direction when the Tevinter had approached him about making some repairs to his staff. If Samarra hadn’t stepped in and intervened, it could have gone badly.

Not that Dorian seemed grateful for her help, of course.

The three mages existed in an uneasy co-existence. They were polite to each other, but didn’t go out of their way to approach the others. Samarra was fed up of Solas’ underhanded ways, and she could not tolerate Dorian’s abrasiveness. She understood the altus felt out of place, and felt alone and isolated, but she could not help him if he did not want help.

Her magical studies had come to a halt - in the real world, anyway. She flat out refused to approach Solas for help, and he didn’t seem inclined to help her either. She wasn’t sure whether she should approach Dorian, unsure as to the Tevint’s motivations at the moment.

So she stuck to her lessons in the Fade, learning from the spirits.

Three days later, Helena had returned from the Coast. Samarra stood by the gates, eagerly waiting to see her friend again - and also to get her first look at Iron Bull. She wasn’t disappointed, and was awestruck by how much taller and broader and wider and muscular he was in reality than in the game. Tokens of all the battles he’d faced was etched onto his body. His horns were large, the tips sharp and pointed, the material of them gleaming. His skin was taupe-colored, tinged with a hint of purple, and stood out prominently against the various browns of the rest of the party.

Her eyes met Helena’s, and she smiled broadly and waved. The Herald raised a hand in return, her smile tired. She met the brunette, and took her mount’s reins, helping the young woman dismount. “A successful trip, I hope?” she asked with a smile.

Helena shuddered. “I shouldn’t have taken Sera and Vivienne together. You were right.”

“That bad?”

“ _Awful_. I nearly stuck the woman on the pointy end of my sword several times. Luckily Bull seems to have a way of getting her to calm down. She orders him around dreadfully. I don’t know why he obeys, the poor fellow. He mentioned something about her resembling Tam-tamisrans?”

“Tamassrans,” Samarra supplied helpfully. “They’re the de facto rulers of the Qunari.”

“I’ll have to read up more about the Qunari,” Helena said. “Speaking of which - we need to talk. Soon.”

Samarra raised her brows. Helena had sounded serious, which was never a good thing. “Of course. I suspect we have much to discuss.”

“Have we heard anything from either the templars or the mages?” Helena asked her as they walked back to their cottage. 

“I believe Josephine has received a letter from Magister Alexius,” Samarra said, somberly. “I do not know if the templars have responded. The time for your decision approaches closer.”

“Who would you side with? Helena asked in the privacy of their accommodation. 

Samarra sighed. “Helena, you know I cannot-”

“I’ve made my decision,” Helena cut her off. “What you tell me will not change my mind, I promise you. I just wanted to know what you would do, if you were in my position. Pretend as though you do not have the knowledge your foresight grants you. Based on what you’ve seen so far, what you’ve experienced, who would you approach for help?”

“Helena, I’m hardly unbiased…”

“Neither am I. You’re a mage. I’m a former templar. Neither of us are unbiased.” Helena argued.

“Fine,” Samarra huffed. “I would approach the mages for help.”

“Why?”

“The have been manipulated. They aren’t capable of taking care of themselves, of helping themselves - not like the templars, anyway. They’ve been locked up too long, kept isolated from society. If we help them, we can help re-integrate them with the general populace. We can stop people from fearing mages. We can make a difference.”

“This matters a lot to you, doesn’t it?” Helena asked softly.

“Honestly? Yeah. Do you know, there are people in Haven who fear me. They don’t approach me for help. If they fall sick, they go to the other non-mage healers. Three old men died the past week, because they would not let me treat them with my magic. I could have healed them. They could have lived. But no, they were too afraid of my being a mage, too scared of my magic, to let me heal them. It makes me wonder. Why has the Chantry instilled such a fear of mages into people? Are we not people too? Am I not worthy of leading a productive life, of having hopes and dreams, of having the freedom to pursue them?”

Helena was silent. “I’m sorry,” she said at last. “You are right. All the mages in the Inquisition are just regular people. You aren’t scary, or dangerous. You aren’t something to be feared. Quite the opposite. Solas, you, Ellandra… all of you have helped people.”

Samarra shrugged. “You have my answer.”

“I’ve chosen to approach the mages,” Helena said decisively. “”What?” she asked, when Samarra shot her a look of surprise. “Did you think I would approach my former brothers-in-arms for help? After that shocking display at Val Royeaux? Even if the commanding officer was rotten,” her mouth pursed up in distaste as she mentioned the Lord Seeker, “the others should be wise enough to know wrong from right. The fact that one of them actually punched a helpless woman… I do not think they are worth much.”

“Some of them have left the order to join us,” Samarra reminded her. 

“And those are the ones who are redeemable. The rest, I consider a lost cause. Although,” Helena gave her a shrewd look, “I suspect you had something to do with the templars who have joined us.”

Samarra only smiled. “Come on now, you need a bath. You smell like wet druffalo,” she complained.

“What, don’t you want a hug from me? Don’t you want to join me in this glorious state of wet druffalo,” Helena teased her, chasing after her and threatening to transfer some of her stench onto Samarra.

“Oi! Leave me alone,” Samarra laughed, opening the door and running outside… and bumping straight into Solas. 

“Fine, you win, I’m going to have a bath. You do… whatever you want to do,” the brunette winked at her.

“Solas,” she greeted him stonily, smoothing out her tunic.

“Samarra,” he replied in kind. She gave him a quick nod, and walked away, aware that he was staring at her back. She didn’t care.

She wandered around the village, checking in with the healers - who had assured her that the infirmary was empty - before finally ending up at the training grounds. She watched the soldiers spar, the clang of metal on metal, the aggressive shouts that filled the air, the orders and instructions barked out.

To her untrained eye, they seemed to be doing rather well.

“What do you think of the men?” a voice behind her asked. 

“I am not well-versed in such matters. My opinion is meaningless,” she replied, before turning around. She found Ser Barris staring at her curiously. His skin was the color of coffee grounds, rich and smooth. He had high cheekbones, and she was immediately jealous of them. His mouth seemed rather too large for his face, but it added a uniqueness to him. His hair was shorn close to his scalp in a buzz cut, and the style, rather than making him look intimidating, suited his features. Pleasant warm brown eyes met hers. “Ser Barris, at your service,” he introduced himself. “I believe you’ve heard of me, although I admit I have never heard of you,” he confessed.

She smiled easily. “I didn’t think you had. I haven’t exactly… heard of you, either.”

“So, it’s true what the Commander said?” he asked. “That you saw us in a vision, and you thought we were good men?”

“I did have some knowledge as to your existence,” she hedged. “As to your being good men… well, only time can tell for certain,” she smiled.

“I’m glad we got out when we did,” he answered. “What the templars were doing… it made me uneasy. The Lord Seeker… it’s like he’s gone mad. Like all the leadership has gone mad. The Inquisition’s a good place to be. We can help people, make a difference.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.”

“They say you are an accomplished healer?” he asked.

“I do what I can,” she replied modestly. “I have been fortunate so far.”

“Modest _and_ beautiful,” he grinned. “Perhaps my lady would be so amenable as to join me for a drink in the tavern later?”

_Whoa, is Barris flirting with me? Why, Delrin Barris, you smooth talker you. I do believe I’ll take you up on your offer._ “Sure, why not?” she grinned in return.

He gave her a short bow. “Till later, then, my lady.”

She watched as he rejoined the other soldiers, aware of a prickle on the back of her neck. When she turned around, she found Iron Bull staring unashamedly at her.

_Time to get this over with. Let’s see what happens_. She quirked a brow at him, and he gave her a charming grin in return. She wasn’t fooled, though. At the moment, the charm and easy-goingness was just part of his act. She gave him a nod and a smile, and walked back towards the village, intending to talk to Adan about their herb supply. She wanted to make sure they were stocked up on potions. Ever since the Tranquil had arrived at Haven, they no longer suffered from potion shortages. 

Samarra ached inside each time she thought of them. They had been dealt a cruel hand, and she wasn’t sure if she could do anything about it. _Not yet anyway. Not till Cassandra finds out the truth about the Seekers._

She cursed inwardly as Bull stepped easily in line with her. “So, you’re the one with the crazy visions,” he asked. “Name’s Bull. The Iron Bull. I lead the Chargers.”

“Nice to meet you, The Iron Bull. Mind if I call you Bull for short? Unless you’d prefer something else?” _Keep it simple, keep it cool. Don't give anything away. You're just a healer, and your visions are limited to the Inquisition. Keep that in mind, and just be casual. Remember, he's got a crazy sharp eye... literally._ She covered up the small chuckle she made with a cough.

He raised his brows. “Bull’s fine. So, what’s your story? How’d you end up with the Inquisition?” he casually pried.

_Nothing here he won’t find out on his own. Might as well let him hear it from the horse’s mouth._ “They tell me I fell out of the Breach. Ended up with these marks-” she raised her left hand “-holes in my memory, and some amount of foresight. Joined up the Inquisition when I realized my skills would help. That’s pretty much it.”

“Skills?” he asked.

“I’m the lead healer in Haven. Surprised you haven’t heard, actually.”

His grin confirmed that he had already heard of her. “Always better to get it confirmed,” he said cheerfully. “You heading to the tavern? I could use a drink. Especially with such fine company,” he leered.

She gave him an unamused look. “You might be partial to redheads, but I’m not fond of lechers. Good day, Bull.” She strode away, ignoring his chuckling.

_Fucking great. As if it isn’t enough to have an ancient fucking elven god sniffing after me, there’s a Ben-Hassrath I have to watch out for as well. Just fucking great. Way to go, Samarra. You don’t need anyone else to make things more difficult for you, you can do it all by yourself._

* * *

“You were saying something… Cullen?” Josephine called out.

“Hmmm? Yes. I was thinking. Haven has limited space for our soldiers to train. Perhaps we could set up something over here,” the Commander pointed at a flat expanse on the map.

“That is a good idea. I will have some of the servants clear out the area,” Josephine stated.

“I could do it,” Samarra volunteered. “It would be an easy matter for me to clear it out. I’ve done it before, just ask Helena.”

Helena agreed. 

“Well… if you are certain, Lady Samarra,” Josephine said uncomfortably. “I would not want you to think we think of you as a menial worker.”

“I don’t think myself above or below any task, Josephine,” she gently said. “If something must be done, it must be done. It would take the servants days to clear out that area. I could do it in hours. It would be more efficient, would it not?”

“That would be a great help,” the ambassador replied. “Thank you.”

“Shall we get back to the matter at hand?” Leliana interjected. “Josephine has received an invitation for negotiations from Magister Gereon Alexius. He’s invited Helena - alone - to negotiate. It’s an obvious trap,” the spymaster continued, “but it is our only chance to help the mages.”

“We don’t have the manpower to take the castle!” Cullen argued. “Either we find another way in, or give up this nonsense, and go get the templars!”

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a magister. This surely cannot be allowed to stand,” Samarra countered calmly.

“Helena?” Cassandra spoke up. “This is your decision to make.”

The Herald inhaled, then exhaled sharply. “We go for the mages. Which means… we need another way into the Castle.”

“A Tevinter magister controls Redcliffe, invites us to the castle to talk, and _some_ of us want to do nothing,” Leliana sniped. 

“Not this again,” Josephine muttered.

“Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. Possibly even Thedas!” Cullen exclaimed. “It has repelled thousands of assaults.” He turned to Helena. “If you go in there, you’ll die. And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won’t allow it!” he thundered.

“And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we lost the mages, and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep!” Leliana argued.

“Even if we could assault the keep, it would be for naught,” Josephine said worriedly. “An ‘Orlesian’ Inquisition’s army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands are tied.”

“Wait, the Inquisition’s considered Orlesian?” Samarra barked out in surprise.

Cullen huffed. “We’re in the middle of discussing a very important matter, and the only thing that interests you is whether we are Orlesian or Ferelden? What is the matter with you?”

“I’m just waiting for you all to let your frustrations out,” she waved her hands breezily. “I already have the solution.”

“To answer your question, Samarra,” Josephine replied politely, “Haven itself is situated in Western Ferelden, but because we are so close to the Frostbacks, we could easily be mistaken for Orlesian.”

“I see.”

“What is this solution you speak of?” Cassandra demanded.

“There is always a way into, _and out of_ a castle,” Samarra began, a sly smile on her face. “A sewer, a water course… an escape route for the castle’s noble occupants…”

“Wait!” Leliana exclaimed. “There _is_ a secret passage into the castle. The escape route for the family. Samarra is right. It’s too narrow for our troops,” she continued, “but we could send agents through.”

“Too risky,” Cullen stated. “Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the magister.”

“That’s why we need a distraction,” Leliana countered. “Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly?”

“Keep attention on Helena while we disable the magister’s defenses.” Cullen mulled over the suggestion. “It’s a gamble, but it might work.”

_Three, two, one_ … The door to the war room was flung open, and Samarra suppressed a smile as she heard the familiar voice. “Fortunately, you’ll have help,” an arrogant, cultured, confident voice drawled.

On Dorian’s heels was a frazzled scout. “This man says he has information about the magister and his methods, Commander,” the poor scout babbled, and was dismissed with a short nod.

“Your spies will never get past Alexius’ magic without my help,” Dorian commented. So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.”

Cullen seemed torn. _No wonder. Dude’s got a wee little crush on the Herald._ Samarra grinned.

“The plan puts you in the most danger,” Cullen said quietly. “We cannot, in good conscience, order you to do this. We can still go after the templars, if you’d rather not play the bait,” he pleaded. “It’s up to you.”

“Don’t worry, Commander,” Samarra spoke up. “I will join _ser_ Pavus in the scouting group. I will do all I can to keep the Herald safe.” _Well, as much as I can. I don’t think I can afford to go through the portal with Helena and Dorian. Or can’t I? No, I’m not sure yet. I must ask Knowledge in the Fade tonight._

“We go with the mages, Cullen,” Helena said firmly.

“Very well,” he seemed resigned. “When should we leave?”

“In two days.” Leliana said. “I will gather my best. Herald, you should pick two others to accompany you. Any more, and it would raise too much suspicion.”

“Who do you suggest, Samarra?” Helena asked, turning towards her.

_Let’s see. Definitely not Sera. Varric would be good, he won’t be so antagonistic towards the mages if Helena gets out of the time portal safe. Bull, Vivienne, Cassandra and Sera disapprove. She’s a warrior. Let’s see. I usually take two mages, a warrior and a rogue. And there’s going to be rifts in the future Redcliffe. Magic could come in useful then._

“I cannot say, but the presence of a mage will help, especially since you face one. And you could always use a rogue,” she answered vaguely.

“I’ll take Solas and Varric, then,” Helena said decisively. “I’ve had enough of Sera and Vivienne for a while. So that’s all set, then. We take care of the magister, and free the mages.”

“Samarra, Dorian, I will call a meeting tomorrow,” Leliana said. “We should plan our entry into the castle. Dorian, I will need you to give a rundown on the kind of magic we face. Keep Samarra informed. She can help you deal with the magical defenses Alexius has set up.”

“She’s just a healing mage,” he scoffed. “There is no way she can match the complex magics of a Tevinter magister.”

_Why that arrogant son of a dirty baboon._ Samarra was incensed. “Let’s find out, shall we, _ser_ Pavus? You. Me. The training grounds. One hour from now. How about it?”

“My dear, it would be an utterly humiliating experience… for you,” he drawled. “But since you seem so eager for punishment, who am I to deny you?”

Helena grinned. “Ten gold on Samarra, Any takers?” She was met with silence. “You lot are no fun,” she complained. “I’m going to go get Varric, start a betting pool.” She brushed past Dorian. “You’ve just made a huge mistake, you know,” the Herald grinned wickedly.

“ _Ser_ Pavus,” Samarra nodded stiffly, and followed Helena.

_Thank fuck I got the Fadewalker repaired._

_You think you can beat him? The man’s a necromancer… he’s got good knowledge on spirits._

_Oh, ye of little faith. Haven’t I been training faithfully?_

_I’m worried you’re being overconfident._

_Not overconfident. The jerk will get in a few good shots at me, I’m sure. But he’s going to land on his butt, not me._

_If you think so. Let’s get the jerk!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cue appropriate showdown music* Ladies and gentlemen, in this corner, all the way from Qarinus we have Dorian Pavus, of House Pavus, necromancer extraordinare. And his opponent, from a place no one has heard of in Thedas, we have Samarra Bayart, healer of the Inquisition and occasional smartass.


	39. Match-Making, Mage-Fighting Mundaneness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of two things happen when people get together - either they fight, or they fall in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Since everyone's interested in the mage beatdown... I figured I'd post this early :D
> 
> * * *

Samarra wasn’t surprised to see a crowd already gathered around the training grounds. Dorian was already there, showing off to the crowd gathered around, twirling and rotating his staff with an ease borne out of years of practice. The crowd _oohed_ and _aahed_ as little flares of fire shot up into the air, and with a thump of the staff on the ground, they exploded into tiny little ice crystals that fell over him. He caught sight of her, and his mouth twisted into a mocking smile.

“Well, if it isn’t the feisty little healer. Are you sure you want to continue? I am very good, you know.”

She grinned, baring her teeth. “I’m sure you’re good. But can you beat me?” she challenged.

“Oh, indeed I can, my dear, and with great pleasure.”

The crowd gave way for her. She caught sight of Varric, who was busy making notes on a sheet of paper. He gave her a broad wink, and mouthed “you better win this,” to her. _Cheeky bugger._

She faced off against the Tevinter mage. For a few moments, they circled each other, sizing the other up. Samarra’s sharpened sense of cunning allowed her to see his weaknesses. His right ankle moved slower in comparison to his left. A weak point. His left elbow was slightly stiff. A weak point.

She honed in on his aura. _Mainly elemental, some spiritual._ It fit in with what she knew his ‘standard’ class was. His elemental strength was lightening, he was mainly a necromancer - she’d have to be wary of him trying to leech health and mana off of her - and he had very basic healing skills.

_Well then. Let’s get this started._

She flung a shard of ice at him, expecting him to deflect it - which he did, of course, with an elegant sweep of his staff. She gripped her newly-renovated staff in her hand, feeling the magic thrum and pulse beneath her fingers. He smirked and her, and yawned, thumping his staff on the ground to direct a flash of lightening at her that she only barely avoided. He chuckled as she righted herself. "Are you sure you want to continue? I fear this will be rather humiliating for you, my dear." he sneered slightly.

_Take him out quick, and easy. He already underestimates you._

She tugged at the Veil around him, which alarmed him. Before he could throw up a barrier, the force of her Veilstrike flung him hard against the ground. Not giving him a chance to recover, she directed an earth shatter glyph beneath him. His face was priceless as he tried to avoid being caught in the chasm that opened up beneath him. A simple wind spell drew his staff away from him, and pushed him into the hole she’d created. It was then an easy matter to seal the crack in the earth around his legs, trapping him in the ground.

“Well,” she pretended to yawn lazily. “I believe you said something about beating me? I’m still waiting,” she grinned.

He glared at her.

“I guess that’s that, then,” Varric chortled. “Crimson wins!” She could hear several grumbles in the crowd, probably those who had been foolish enough to bet on Dorian.

“I demand a rematch!” the Tevinter mage angrily declared.

“On what grounds?” she asked lazily.

“On the grounds that you cheated!”

“I cheated?” she quirked a brow at him. “Pray tell me, how exactly did I cheat?”

He glowered at her. “I didn’t expect you to be... quite so skilled.”

“And now you know,” she said calmly. “You thought I was so terrible, I wasn’t worthy even of a minimal effort. That kind of thinking is beyond foolish. It doesn’t matter who your opponent is - a wise man is never given to underestimation. Far better to overestimate, and prepare accordingly, than to be caught with your pants down. Speaking of pants,” she gave him a quick grin, “I do believe you’ll need new ones. Yours seem to be rather, shall we say… _soiled_?”

That groan of disgust could only be from Cassandra.

She walked back to the village, the crowd cheering, and thumping her back. She had to finally escape into the healers tent to get away from the noise, and belatedly realized she’d left Dorian stuck.

_He’s a big boy. I’m sure he can take care of himself._

Everna and Giles walked in, laughing as they told her how Dorian had sworn all sorts of curses as he worked to free himself. “Like a shamed mabari, tail between its legs,” Everna chuckled. “You best stay out of his way for a day or two, give him time to calm down.”

_Yikes. Yeah, I best do that. We’re going to have to work together… Maybe I should go talk to him. Tomorrow. Tomorrow is fine, I can do tomorrow._

“Rumor has it you are meeting with one of the templars,” Giles prodded.

“Ser Barris? He’s a good sort. He offered to buy me a drink, I’m taking him up on it, that’s all.”

“Sure,” Giles waggled his brows suggestively. Samarra laughed and slapped his hand. “Stop it! It’s not like that at all.”

Her arm tingled, and a vision popped up. Ser Barris, waiting in the tavern for her. The door swung open, and Ellandra entered unwillingly, flanked by an excited Ashalle and Everna. She caught sight of the templar, and tripped and fell onto the ground. Delrin quickly approached her to make sure she was okay. Samarra could practically see the sparks fly between them as their eyes met.

_Well then. Looks like that drink won’t be happening, after all. Good for Ellandra. And Delrin. They’re both good-hearted people._

_Do you realize what this means?_

_What?_

_WE GET TO PLAY FREAKING MATCHMAKER. Remember Mulan? The matchmaker?_

_Hahahaha oh my god yes! Freaking yes! Finally, something awesome!_

_Let’s DO THIS. FUCK YEAH!_

“I need your help,” she told Giles and Everna, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“What is it?” Everna asked eagerly.

“I just had a vision, of our Ellandra and ser Barris,” she said chuckling. “I need your help to pull it off. You and Ashalle must take Ellandra to the tavern tonight, before I meet Delrin. I was to meet him at seven bells, but I will be _delayed_ ,” she winked at them, “by something. It will give them a chance to meet.”

“But what about when you arrive for your meeting?” Giles asked.

“I’ll just tell Delrin that something urgent came to my attention, and take my leave,” she explained. “I’ll just need one of you to bring my supper, if that’s alright.”

“I can take care of it, don’t worry,” Everna reassured her.

“Excellent. It’s time something good came for our Ellandra, isn’t it?”

Everna smiled wistfully. “I’d like to find someone, too. Giles has his Flissa-”

“Hey!” Giles protested.

“Oh come off it Giles, everyone and their mother knows the pair of you are joined at the hip,” Samarra teased.

“And you have _ser_ Solas,” Everna continued.

“Wait! Wait, _what_?” Samarra choked and sputtered. “Solas? People think I’m with Solas?”

“The two of you do spend an awful lot of time together,” Giles began cautiously.

“And everyone has noticed the way the two of you talk to each other, it’s like you’re lost in your own world,” Everna continued hesitantly.

“Although they think he said something to you, you haven’t been talking the past few days,” Giles tried to defend her.

Samarra groaned. “I’m **not** with Solas. I’m not. He’s just my tutor. He teaches me magic stuff. And I consult him for healing. But that’s all. I’m not interested in Solas.”

_Lies, lies, what a bag of lies. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about those lush lips of his._

_Hush, you._

_Or that deceptively strong chest of his._

_I said shut up!_

_I bet you’ve never wondered how much power those hips of his carry…_

_Fuck you!!_

They looked abashed at her calm, earnest tone. “We’re sorry, Samarra,” they apologized. “We assumed, and we shouldn’t have.”

“Don’t worry. I know people will gossip. I’d appreciate it if you could help stop the tongues wagging. I’m sure the last thing Solas needs is someone he likes thinking he’s unavailable because of the rumors.”

_Oooh, good way to put it. That’ll get their sympathy._

And it did. Everna promised to tell everyone she knew that Solas was single, probably thinking that Samarra had had a vision pertaining to the elven apostate. And Samarra wasn’t going to correct her. _Technically, I could get a vision pertaining to his… romantic interests… sometime down the line, so it isn’t really lying, is it?_

They switched topics, casually chatting about their stores, and the possibility of new recruits. Samarra was flirting with the idea of recruiting some of the Tranquil as helpers, and while Giles seemed somewhat open to the idea, Everna was uncomfortable with how emotionless they were.

It was something that had creeped out Samarra at the start too, although she’d never admit it to anyone. To see someone so completely devoid of emotions… there were no words to describe how she felt. Later, it had been replaced with feelings of anger and sympathy, anger at the injustice of their plight, and sympathy for their half-existence.

She was accosted by a runner, who handed her a note. It was from the Commander, who wished to meet with her.

_Oh, right. Forgot to restock his potion supply_. She wondered if the man would approach her about his nightmares, or if she’d have to pry it out of him again. With Ellandra’s help, and the books she’d obtained from Val Royeaux, they’d been able to come up with a potion that took care of most of the side effects of lyrium withdrawal. She hadn’t told the Enchanter what or who the potion was for, but she knew that Ellandra was smart enough to connect the dots. Samarra also knew that Ellandra admired Cullen for breaking away from the Templar order and for trying to break his addiction to lyrium, and would not tell another soul.

It was one of the reasons she trusted Ellandra implicitly.

She gathered up the potions in a cloth bag, and made her way to Cullen’s office. “Cullen?” she called out.

“Come in,” he replied tersely. “Shut the door behind you.”

Confused by his tone, she nonetheless obeyed. “Your potions,” she said, and handed the bag over. He took it and placed it in one of the drawers of his table, as he always did. “What’s the matter?” she asked him, when he persisted in staring at her.

“I do not like the idea of Helena approaching the mages,” he said bluntly. “I cannot send any of my men to help her. She is walking into a trap.”

“And do you think you can march your soldiers up to the gates of Therinfal were she to ask the templars for help?” she sneered. “Don’t you think that approaching the templars could be a trap? Especially after what happened at Val Royeaux?”

He flushed. “Even if the Lord Seeker has gone mad, the rest of the order is still honorable,” he argued.

“You’ve approached them how many times now? And how often were your words listened to? Barris, Carroll and Fletcher only left because you contacted Barris directly. What happened to the other messages you sent? And surely they must have heard of all the good the Inquisition has been doing. They haven’t said a word! At least the mages invited Helena to talk with them!”

“An invitation they conveniently forgot!” he shouted.

“Because of a blood magic ritual performed by a magister that altered time itself!” she raised her voice. “How were they to know about it? Why are you trying to blame them for something they did not want?”

“Helena was a templar. She cannot turn her back on them,” his voice dropped to a plea.

“Cullen, you seem to think I did something to influence Helena’s mind. **I did not**. I have been adamant from the first day that whatever decisions she makes are hers, and hers alone. All I do is offer counsel and guidance, just as you. I know you’re worried about her,” she continued, her voice gentling, “but you can’t undermine her. She is brave, she is strong, and she is capable. She will prevail. It is our job to provide her the best possible support we can, to keep her as protected as we can. But the rest… the rest is up to her, and we cannot do anything about it.”

He sank his head into his hands. “You’re right. She is the Herald. She will succeed.”

She reached over and patted his shoulder comfortingly. “Yes, she will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian really, really underestimated Samarra. But she probably shouldn't get drawn into a rematch... should she?
> 
> SO CLOSE TO REDCLIFFE YOU GUYS! :D


	40. Ass-Kicking and Time Travel: It's Really Just Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Redcliffe begins...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> You guys, NoTomorrow here on AO3 was _absolutely amazing_ and sketched out Samarra. I'm totally blown away, it's so amazing! I love, love, love the slight smirk on Samarra's face, it's just... so her. (legit moved me to tears, so thanks for that NoTomorrow ❤)

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=14xmrdg)

They were in the dungeons below the Chantry, the quietest, safest place to have the meeting, the spymaster had insisted.

Several scouts circled the table. On the table was a schematic of Redcliffe Castle. Samarra didn’t dare to ask Leliana where she’d gotten it. She recognized Harding and Charade easily. The rest were unknown to her. Dorian stood next to her, pointedly ignoring her presence. She sighed internally. He was still sore - or rather, his ego was still bruised - and she wished he would get over it quickly. They had more important matters to attend.

“The tunnel begins here,” Leliana said, pointing to an area near Old Simeon’s cave. “But the section outside the cave has collapsed. We’ll have to enter the cave, and make our way from there. Harding reports that the cave is magically sealed, so clearly the Venatori are aware of that route.”

Harding shook her head. “I don’t think it was the Venatori,” the dwarf commented. “Haven’t seen any of their kind go anywhere near that region. I think it’s a remnant from the rebel apostates.”

“Either way, we’ll have to break it. That is where our mages come in,” Leliana looked over at her and Dorian. “Can you handle it?”

“Yes,” Dorian muttered. “It’ll be an easy enough task.”

“Good. Once we enter the tunnels, we have to eliminate all resistance. Even though we’re following this tunnel,” she traced the path on the plan, “the side tunnels will undoubtedly have guards. You’ll notice that they branch off at intersections. I’m dividing you into two groups - Harding, you take Portia, Castor, and Oberon. Samarra will join you. Charade, you’ll be taking Nestor, Denam and Lottie. Dorian will be your mage support. I’ll take rearguard with Farris and Ashton. Remember, strike quickly, strike quietly. **Do not** give away your position. I’ll personally skin alive the idiot who blows our cover, do you hear me?” she threatened.

“Yes, _serah_!” 

“Dorian,” Leliana turned her sharp eyes on him, “what kind of magic can we expect in the tunnels?

“It will be well warded, and have lots of offensive runes,” Dorian stated. “We’ll have to disable them as quietly as we can. There will be several alarm wards. It would be best if Samarra and I lead the front. We can take out the wards and the runes, and make the passageway safer for your men.”

“Understood,” Leliana said. “Samarra, would you be comfortable casting without a staff? We could always use another bow out on the field.”

She could feel Dorian staring at her in surprise. “I fear not, Leliana. If what Dorian says is accurate, I need to be as focused as possible in taking out the wards quietly. I will need my staff.”

“Ask Harritt to fit a blade at the end of it, then,” Leliana ordered. 

She nodded. “I’ll get him to do that right away,” she promised.

“I think that’s it, then. The mages go first. The rest of you, cover them. Once the main tunnel is secured, the groups will split off to tackle the guards in the side tunnels. MOVE QUICKLY. The Herald is using herself as bait. We MUST get to the throne room before the magister can attack. Is that understood?”

“Yes _serah_!”

“We depart Haven in two groups. Harding, take a couple of the men and make sure our path is clear. I’ll follow behind with Charade and the mages.” Leliana looked around the table. “Any questions?”

There were none.

* * *

There was so little light available, she could barely see. She couldn’t use her magic to light a torch, for fear of giving away their position. It was a good thing they had the elf scout with them, because without Charade, they would be completely and utterly helpless.

Samarra winced as the twig she’d inadvertently stepped on crunched, the sound loud in the silence. Thankfully, no one reproached her, although she could practically feel Dorian’s smugness oozing from him. He was surprisingly silent, moving with a grace she hadn’t expected from him.

Helena, Solas, Cassandra and Varric would depart for the Castle from their base camp once they’d reach the cave entrance, which would allow them to coordinate their efforts. Taking out the barrier and making their way into the tunnel would take time, by which time the Herald would have arrived at the castle gates.

Coordination was of utmost importance. Leliana had drilled that into their heads over and over.

They reached the mouth of the cave, and Samarra could feel the magic emanating from the barrier over it. It felt like a frost barrier, which meant they would need fire magic to break it. “It’s a frost barrier,” Samarra whispered to Dorian, and he confirmed it with a terse nod. 

Charade sent out the signal, a weak flare that shone briefly in the sky. An answering flare was seen, indicating that the Herald had departed. 

“We begin, now!” the spymaster hissed.

Samarra and Dorian cast fire spells against the barrier, spinning and aiming their staffs at it. Soon, the barrier shattered in a million tiny glowing embers of ice, and the two mages lead the way in. They neutralized two alarm wards, and a particularly nasty fire mine, before calling the all clear. The rest of the scouts made their way in, and they moved to the back of the cave, searching for the entrance to the tunnel.

“Found it!” Ashton called out triumphantly, rolling away a very large rock. They could see the opening. “Good work,” Leliana said approvingly.

Dorian made his way forward, and summoned a Veilfire torch. He used it to illuminate the entrance, searching for any wards or runes. “Nothing here,” he called out. 

They dropped into the tunnel, one after the other. Samarra’s stomach resembled a stormy sea, so nervous she was. What they were doing was _ridiculously important_ and it had to be done according to schedule. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if they got to the throne room too late.

She and Dorian moved as one unit. Dorian would Fade-step over a rune or a ward, taking unawares the guards, and instantly killing them with an electricity-based spell, while she worked swiftly to disable it. They were in sync, perfectly coordinated, understanding the other’s movements without having to voice any instructions.

The closer they got to the throne room, the more heavily guarded the tunnels were. Samarra debated over casting Veilstrike, negating it instantly - it could make too much noise in the confined space. Instead, she opted for one of her favorite spells - chain lightning - which was especially effective when combined with Dorian’s static cage.

And the myriad of arrows shot by the scouts, of course.

Soon, the dim, gloomy, candle-lit passages were clear. They moved forwards, trying to find a way out, but finding none. Samarra was close to panicking when one of the scouts gave a soft cry. There was a moveable stone in the wall of the tunnel, and two scouts pushed hard against it to get it to slide open. When it opened up, they found themselves in the antechamber to the throne room, It was heavily guarded, and several of the scouts immediately slipped into stealth to take up suitable vantage positions. Samarra thought about joining them, but instead realized she and Dorian would be tasked with casting barriers over them, and whispered to him as such. He nodded in acknowledgement, and they both gripped their staffs a little tighter. Once the scouts were in place, they quickly cast as many barriers as they could over the rogues in the room, and exchanged a look of understanding. Simultaneously, they cast chain lightning, the lethal bolt of electricity bouncing from one guard to the next - all of whom wore all-metallic armor. Most instantly perished, and the few that remained were taken out by the scouts’ arrows.

“That was incredibly efficient,” Leliana approved. “It could not have gone better. Perhaps I should look into having a mage accompany my scouts,” she said, giving Samarra a considering look.

“Later, Leliana. We have a magister to confront, remember?” Samarra hissed.

They approached the door, and she could make out Helena’s voice. “Nothing at all,” the Herald said calmly. “I’m just going to take the mages and leave.”

_Yeah, you tell that son of a bitch, girlfriend._

_Wow, you cannot pull that off. Please never use that phrase ever again._

_Is this really the time to sass me?_

_It’s always time to sass you. It’s a fucking sass party up in this joint._

She huffed softly, causing Dorian to give her a questioning look. She shook her head, and they all waited for Leliana’s signal to attack. Slowly slipping the door open, once again the scouts slipped into stealth and took up positions around the great hall, each on positioning themselves behind one of the oblivious Venatori mages that surrounded the room.

She heard Felix’s confession, and knew it would be soon. She dared not summon her magic yet, afraid of alerting the Venatori mages in the room. Dorian evidently felt the same way; his staff hung limply between his fingers.

Alexius made his grandstanding speech, and Felix implored him to reconsider his stance.

 _Okay, isn’t this the part where Dorian…_ Samarra turned to find the Tevinter mage missing from her side. _Yep, this is the part where it goes down. Fuuuuuuuuck me.._

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliche everyone expects us to be,” Dorian mocked as he joined Helena’s side.

“Dorian,” Alexius spat. “I gave you a chance to be a part of this. You turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.”

Samarra had to stuff her knuckles into her mouth to stop the burst of laughter that threatened to pour out at the magister’s statement.

“That’s who you serve?” Helena scoffed. “This Elder One is the one who killed the Divine? Is he a mage?” she asked.

“Soon, he will become a god,” Alexius announced imperiously. Samarra rolled her eyes. “He will make the world bow to mages once more,” Alexius continued, caught up in his own fanatical frenzy, “We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.”

Fiona was incensed. “You can’t involve me people in this!” she proclaimed angrily.

“Alexius, this is exactly what you and I talked about never wanting to happen!” Dorian tried to reason with the magister, but why Samarra never understood. The man was clearly lost to fanaticism… “Why would you support this?” Dorian trailed off, clearly bewildered.

Samarra saw Leliana give the signal. The scouts attacked in unison, their arrows silent and deadly. One after the other, the Venatori mages fell to the ground, dead. Samarra kept an eagle eye out in case they were noticed, ready to either cast a barrier or an attack where necessary.

Alexius was so distracted, he barely noticed his men go missing.

“Stop it father,” Felix pleaded, and a burst of sympathy for the young man burst through her. “Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages fight the Breach, and let us go home.”

Alexius face was twisted in grief as he turned towards his only child. “No,” he disagreed vehemently. “It’s the only way, Felix. He can save you!”

“Save me?” Felix was confused.

“There is a way. The Elder one promised! If I undo the mistake at the Temple…” Alexius trailed off, lost in his thoughts. 

“I’m going to die,” Felix stated bluntly. _Not if I can help it, bucko. Never fear, Samarra’s here! Except I’m kind of clueless at the moment. But I’ma do my best, mmkay? You’ll become one of my cinnamon buns, just like Cole and Krem._ “You need to accept that,” the young man said softly.

Alexius ignored him. “Seize them, Venatori!” he ordered. “The Elder One demands this woman’s life!”

_Bahahaha oh you poor little man. Your men are dead. And Helena’s gonna massively fuck up your plans. And you’re probably going to die. But Felix is gonna live. I’m going to find a way. Hey, you know what you absolute stupid conker of an idiot? Fiona was a Grey Warden. She had the Blight, but she doesn’t any longer. If anyone could have helped you help Felix, it was her. And what did you do? Your indenture her. You absolute ballsack._

The scouts had reached the Venatori closest to the magister. In a matter of seconds, all the men he’d addressed lay dead in a pool of their own blood. The scouts - and Leliana and Samarra - came out of the shadows, staring down the magister ominously.

 _Okay, here it comes. Wait for it…_ “Helana!” Samarra called out. The brunette nodded, never taking her eyes off of Alexius. “Whatever happens, **don’t lose hope**.”

“Your men are dead, Alexius,” Helena called out carelessly.

“You!” he spat. “You are a mistake! You never should have existed!” 

Samarra watched, half-fascinated, half-horrified as the magister pulled off the amulet that hung around his throat. It glowed a bright, sickly, radioactive green, and the magic emanating from it felt twisted. Samarra could feel the bile rise up the back of the throat, as it had when she’d first encountered the magic outside of Redcliffe Village. She swallowed, hard, in an effort to tamp it down.

Dorian clearly recognized it. “No!” he gave a shout, and flung out his staff, casting a displacement spell as he did so in an effort to force the amulet away from the magister’s hand. Instead, it met the magic from the amulet, merged with it, and Samarra - and everyone else - watched in horror as a portal opened up in front of Dorian and Helena. The two of them were pulled in through it before anyone could even move a muscle, and the portal sealed itself shut with a massive crackle in the blink of an eye.

“Maker help us,” Cassandra cried out, running to the spot where the Herald had stood only moments ago. “He’s killed the Herald!”

The scouts surrounded Alexius, but Samarra knew he was a powerful mage. She quickly cast and directed a sleep spell at him, knocking him out. It would last a few minutes, hopefully enough time for Helena and Dorian to make their way through future Redcliffe and return to the present.

“We should kill him,” Leliana hissed.

“No,” Samarra took charge. “The Herald isn’t dead. He cast a spell to send her into the future. That is where she and Dorian are. They will find their way back to the present.”

“How do you know?” Cassandra demanded. “How can you be sure that she will return, safe and unharmed.”

Samarra shrugged, and tried to ignore the pit of unease in her stomach. “I don’t.”

Varric looked thoroughly confused, Leliana looked pissed as fuck, and Solas… Solas kept staring at her with unnerving intensity, as though she were a particularly fascinating specimen he would like to dissect.

Or an unusually delectable prey to feast on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELENA'S GONE YOU GUYS
> 
> WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN
> 
> Y U SO SMUG SOLAS


	41. To Know The Price Of Failure...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What _did_ happen in Redcliffe?  
> 
> 
>   
>  _Watch out for the following: graphic depiction of violence & implied torture_   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> This is the longest chapter I've written so far! I debated over breaking it into two, but it didn't feel right. So here you go!
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> **Now with art, thanks to**[annaddonovan ](http://annaddonovan.deviantart.com/art/Don-t-do-red-lyrics-kids-639426385?ga_submit_new=10%253A1476143925), **who drew future Samarra.**  
> 
> 
> * * *

**POV Helena**

“Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_ Fucking fuck. What the fucking Void just happened?” Helena exclaimed, staggering to her feet. This was most certainly _not_ the throne room where she’d been standing, confronting Alexius. The fucking magister wasn’t here. Where ever they were, it was dark, dimly lit by the radiance of giant glowing red crystal spires that jutted from the floors and walls. Red crystal that she immediately recognized as red lyrium, dread filling her stomach.

That fucking green portal had fucking _done_ something. She was going to _kill_ Alexius when… if… she saw him.

Dorian was a few feet from her, frantically attempting to brush the disgusting sludge from his clothing. He seemed more alarmed at the sight of his soiled robes than he was at their new situation, which annoyed her. How vain could someone be? She grunted. _Fuck magic, fuck it all_ she thought disgruntedly. Clearly, Samarra had known something was up. What had the crimson-haired woman warned her? _Whatever happens, don’t lose hope._

_Yeah, that’s real easy to say. Why aren’t you here then?_ She’d have to ask the woman that when she got out of this awful place.

Maybe she should have just listened to Cullen, and gone for the templars. Templars weren’t involved in stupid shit like this. They stopped magic, for crying out loud!

“Well, I believe we are-” Dorian trailed off as they observed two burly guards, swords in hand, come rushing through the gated stairwell in front of them. “Blood of the Elder One!” one exclaimed “Where’d they come from?” his partner added. The two guards were dressed in a strange suit of armor, a design that looked familiar… _Tevinter_ , she realized with a start, _that’s what the Venatori were wearing. What the fuck is going on? Leliana took care of all the Venatori in the room!_

A blast from Dorian hit one, sending him staggering backwards, as Helena drew her sword against the incoming blade from the second. The sludge they were knee-deep in wasn’t the easiest to move around in, but the two guards were definitely more at a disadvantage in their heavy armor. The two of them used their lack of mobility to their advantage, doing what they could to knock their opponents down, while trying to avoid getting hit themselves. Finally, Dorian put a quick end to the skirmish by casting a barrier over himself and Helena, before striking down the two guards with lightning. The combination of the watery sludge and the blast of electricity instantly fried them, and the smell of burnt flesh filled the air, causing Helena to wrinkle her nose.

She trudged over to the gate, where the stairs rose out of the grimy water. She sheathed her blade and tried to dry her clothing as best as she could, but it was a futile effort. She hated the feeling of wet clothing, and her thoughts could clearly be discerned by the scowl on her face. “What were you saying before?” she prompted Dorian, watching the mage as he picked his way delicately over to her. The air was chilly, and she found herself shivering. Her mood worsened.

Dorian, bless him, took pity on her and dried her off with his magic. Instantly, she felt better. “As I was saying,” he continued, “This is probably not what Alexius intended when he cast his spell. We’ve been displaced. I believe the portal that opened up must have moved us to the closest confluence of arcane energy.”

“Look, I can’t claim to understand any of this magic stuff, okay? Take that up with Samarra and Solas, they’d be more than happy to have long, in-depth discussions with you. What I want to know is, where are we? All I know is, we were in the castle, and now we aren’t.”

Dorian’s brow furrowed as he looked around. “Well, it does look like we’re still in the castle…” He examined their surroundings with a casual eye. “I don’t think it is merely a question of _where_ , but also _when_.”

A cold, clammy hand wrapped itself around her heart. “What? What do you mean? How is that even possible?”

“Alexius must have used the amulet as a focus. It moved us through time!”

Helena gnawed on her lip nervously. “Great, time travel, just what I need. More weird, fucked-up magic. As if this glowing thing on my hand wasn’t enough. So, did we go forward in time, or backward? And how far?”

“Those are the questions of the hour, aren’t they? We’ll have to find out now, won’t we?” 

“Quit joking around, Dorian, this is serious!” she exclaimed.

He sobered up. “Let’s have a look around, see where the rift took us. Then we can figure out how to get back… if we can.”

Helena remembered what Samarra said. _Don’t lose hope_. “Oh, we’ll get back all right. And when we do, I’m going to make Alexius _hurt_.” she muttered ominously. “Let’s get moving.”

“Right behind you.”

The climbed up the stairs, reaching the a new level. Judging by all the prison cells, it was clear they were in the dungeons. Dorian theorized that they had been displaced to the castle dungeons from the throne room.

He was far too perky for someone who’d just been mixed up in time magic, Helena grumbled to herself. A thought struck her. “Would the others have been dragged through like us? And are lost somewhere around here, just like we are?”

The mage shook his head. “I doubt it. Alexius would not have chanced creating a portal so large that he risked catching himself or Felix in it. The others are probably still where and when we left them.”

“Fantastic,” Helena mumbled. “Let’s see what we can find.” They climbed up another flight of stairs, trying to be as silent as possible, lest they attracted more unwanted attention from guards. The last thing they needed was the whole place alerted to their presence. There was no way just the two of them would be able to survive a swarm of prepared guards. They’d have to move quickly though; there was no telling when of if others would be coming down their way. Dorian had some knowledge of the castle, but he was more familiar with the upper levels of the castle than he was with the lower passages and dungeons. The whole place was in a state of disrepair, which alarmed her. It hadn't been this way when she'd arrived at the castle. There was some strange sort of disgusting slime oozed out and covered the walls. She could see that there was mold everywhere, interspersed with red lyrium. The presence of so much red lyrium worried her. Where had it all come from? What had it been used for? Varric had been clear that the stuff was dangerous, a fact that had been corroborated by Cullen.

An eerie silence filled the halls. Even the faint drip-drip-dripping of water did nothing to ease the tension in the air. Some passageways had braziers aflame to illuminate the area, but more often than not they had to find their way using the light emanating from the red lyrium. Dorian had not wanted to attract unnecessary attention or expend valuable mana with unnecessary magic. He kept glancing at his potions pouch, filled with several lyrium and healing potions.

Samarra had told him to stock up, he’d said. Just as the seeress had told her.

Every once in awhile they’d hug the walls, or duck behind empty supply crates at the sound of armored footfalls or muffled voices from unknown locations. By some kind of miracle. some supply crates weren’t empty, and they salvaged what they could from the contents. It was so wet down here, everything was rotting, and molding, and the stench was almost unbearable. Helena could feel what she thought were drops of water hitting her neck and sliding down her armor.

She _hoped_ it was water.

It felt like they were getting nowhere in the labyrinth of halls. Neither of them were really sure what they were looking for, or what they might find. Every cell held either rotting corpses, or skeletons, or a grim mix of both. Many rooms had floors and equipments smeared with red stains. Some looked old, but a frightful many looked fresh. They didn’t dare look long or close enough at the corpses to determine if they belonged to someone they knew.

Helena dove reflexively into an empty room, pulling Dorian along with her, at the echoes of a man’s agonized screams. It sounded distant, and with guilt twisting into a knot in her stomach, she realized there was nothing she could do to help. They had no choice, it was better they avoided trouble for now. She and Dorian could not afford to waste precious energy. Choking back down the bile that threatened to rise up her throat, they moved onto the next room. Yet more barred cells lined the room, although there were no guards.

But it was occupied. Helena could hear the captive mumbling, picking up a stray word here and there. She crept closer silently, wanting to get a better look at the occupant of the cell. When she was close, the woman’s face jerked upright.

“Cassandra,” Helena whispered, horrified. The Seeker’s eyes glowed an eerie red, and crimson veins webbed across her pale, sickly complexion. The woman just stared at her in shock, wide-eyed and mouth agape. “Maker, can it be?” Cassandra finally spoke up. “I saw you die!” she exclaimed. “And yet, you have returned to us. Has Andraste given us another chance?” She went on to berate herself for failing Helena and everyone else - _probably not for the first time_ , Helena thought.

“Cassandra, what happened to you?” Helena demanded.

“Nothing that can be helped now,” the woman replied balefully. “I will be with the Maker soon.”

“I’m not going to let that happen,” Helena replied firmly, gesturing towards the lock. Dorian got the hint, and melted the lock. 

“It looks as though Alexius sent us forward in time. If we find him, we may be able to return to our present.”

Cassandra stepped out of the cell with shaky feet. She was haggard and gaunt, and resembled nothing of the muscled warrior Helena remembered. “You mean to go back in time?” the Seeker asked, hopeful. “Make it so that none of this ever took place?”

“If Dorian can reverse the spell. That’s the plan,” Helena agreed.

Cassandra frowned. “Alexius is not the only one you will have to deal with. He has a master. After you died-” she raised a hand to stop Helena from interrupted. “After you died, we could not stop the Elder One from rising.” Cassandra shook her head, her eyes haunted. “Empress Celene was murdered. The army that swept through the lands in the wake of her death… it was a horde of demons. Nothing stopped them. _Nothing_.”

Helena promised her they’d find a way to prevent the events that had lead to this future from ever happening. The Seeker informed them that Solas, Varric and Leliana were still in the castle, informing the two time travellers sorrowfully that the others had fallen. When Helena asked about Samarra, the Seeker’s eyes gleamed angrily, and she refused to answer.

It was troubling.

They found a rusty sword in one of the discarded supply crates for the Seeker. It would have to suffice for now. Helena wanted to locate the others as quickly as possible, wanting as many people as possible to fight against Alexius. The magister had had time to gain powers, and Maker only know what _kind_ of powers.

The next person they found was the former Grand Enchanter, who was in the most alarming state Helena had ever seen - ever. It was hard to tell where the red lyrium in her cell ended, and where her body began. She was able to tell them the date - they discovered they were a year into the future - and that the Venatori were growing red lyrium in living people. Helena put the woman out of her misery. It seemed a kindness, judging by the amount of pain Fiona was in.

They located Varric next, humming to himself in the cells. He was in the same state as the Seeker, having been poisoned with red lyrium. He informed them that he overheard one of the guards talking about how Alexius never left the throne room. The dwarf had been tortured, it was plain to see. Deep scars covered his arms and legs. He walked over to the cell furtherest away from the door, and recovered Bianca, much to everyone’s surprise. He shrugged easily, explaining that one of the guards had taken a liking to him, and had stashed it away safely, where he could see it, but not touch it.

Solas was the next to be found. He looked to be in better condition than Cassandra and Varric, but the same red glow enveloped him. He stood with his arms braced limply through the bars of his cell, forehead resting against the chilled metal. His eyes were closed as they entered. “Solas?” she called out, hesitantly. His eyes sprung open, shock and surprise flitting across his face. 

“You are alive,” he exclaimed in disbelief. “We saw you die!”

“The spell Alexius cast displaced us in time. We just got here, so to speak,” Dorian explained.

Solas seemed to catch on immediately. “Can you reverse the process? You could return and obviate the events of the last year! It may not be too late!”

“I’m glad you understood what he just said, because I’m not sure that I did,” Helena sighed.

Solas’ lips twisted up into a look of bitter recrimination. “You would think such understanding would stop me from making such terrible mistakes. You would be wrong.”

“You look like shit,” Helena said bluntly. “I don’t think Samarra would approve,” she tried to joke weakly.

“I am dying, but it is no matter,” Solas calmly stated. “If you can undo this, they - she - can all be saved.”

“She? You mean Samarra?” Helena asked. “What happened to her?” she demanded.

Solas shook his head sorrowfully. “It was all my fault,” he said. “I did not do enough to protect her. After you died, we tried searching for alternate ways to close the Breach. Nothing worked. Then Haven was attacked, by an army of red templars-”

“ _Templars?_ ” Helena exclaimed in disbelief.

Solas shot her an impatient look. “The red templars easily overran our defenses. In my pride and foolishness, I did not realize _why_ they had attacked. It was for Samarra. They captured her, and took her to the Elder One. We tried to launch a rescue effort, but we were overpowered, and captured… The Elder One, he made us watch, watch as he…” he looked visibly distressed. “He tortured Samarra. The things he did to her... “ Solas shook his head once more. “Unspeakable. He used a binding ritual, to enslave her mind to his service. He forced her to become his minion.”

Cassandra grunted, and Solas turned angrily towards her. “She wanted none of it, as you well know! You cannot blame her for what happened!”

“What _did_ happen?” Dorian asked, curious.

“She lead his armies,” Cassandra spat bitterly. “The demon army that razed Thedas? She commanded it.”

“And the Elder One commands her,” Solas argued hotly. He turned towards Helena again, his eyes pleading. “She doesn’t _want_ to, but she is _forced_ to. When you get back - if you get back - you _must_ warn her. Please. The Elder One holds a morbid fascination for her talent.”

“We can’t do this without you,” Helena said.

“If there is any hope, any way to save her… my life is yours. This world is an abomination. It must never come to pass.”

Helena was shaken by what Solas had said. She couldn’t, for the life of her, picture the laughing, charming seeress who cared so much for people, lead an army that would wreak destruction. She couldn’t picture Samarra, who fought to save lives, casually taking them.

But Solas’ eyes told her he spoke the truth.

“I’ll keep her safe,” she promised, and it seemed to satisfy him.

They pressed ahead, Seeing the red lyrium in the cells created a new pit in Helena’s stomach, with the knowledge that _it once could have been a person_. By Dorian’s estimate, there wasn’t, or at least shouldn’t be, much of the castle depths left to investigate. More than once they found themselves wandering down halls they had already passed through. They dispatched guards where they could silently, raiding the bodies for weapons and supplies. 

They stumbled into Leliana in one of the torture rooms, hanging limply from the ceiling. At their sudden appearance, the lone guard standing in front of the Nightingale - her torturer, no doubt, judging by his taunt - spun around. When the spymaster spotted them, she sprung to life, striking like an angry viper, wrapping her legs around the man’s throat and throttling him to death.

Helena rushed over to free Leliana. It amazed her that the spymaster had the kind of strength left to do what she had done, given that she looked like death. Her skin was shrivelled, wrinkled and dry, mottled with bruises and scars. Her eyes held a cold aloofness, lending to a kind of ruthlessness that one gains only when they've nothing left to lose. Helena had never seen that kind of look on anyone before, and it shook her. Sister Nightingale's clothes hung in shredded ribbons on her corpse-like body. She looked like she'd fall over at the slightest of breezes, but there was still a fire that burned in the deepest depths of her eyes. Thin streams of blood ran down her arms from the torture wounds she'd received, dripping down on to the floor slowly, one drop at a time. Dorian wordlessly handed her a healing potion, and Leliana drank it without comment.

“You’re alive after all. Good.” Leliana nodded brusquely, rubbing her scarred arms as she looked over Helena.

“You’re safe now,” Helena tried to smile.

Leliana made a sound of disgust. Her face was stony and impassive, “You need to do better than just safe. You need to end this. You have a plan, I hope.”

Dorian muttered to himself as he examined the papers and journals in the room. “You’re resistant to the Blight?” he turned to Leliana in surprise.

Her answering look would have killed a lesser man.

“You aren’t terribly surprised to see us,” Helena cautiously noted.

“It was the last thing Samarra said to me before they enslaved her.” Leliana crossed her arms. “She said, that this future was a mistake. And that somewhere down the line, you would arrive, to stop it.” The spymaster glared at Solas, who looked even more ashamed than usual. “You know what _he_ did to her for that.”

“Yes,” he whispered, eyes downcast.

Helena wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “Well, it should all be over soon?” she offered weakly.

“Right, once we reverse Alexius’ spell, none of this will ever have happened,” Dorian said breezily. Helena cringed as she heard the words, and even more at his tone. They were the wrong words to say… but there probably weren’t many right things to say at the moment.

Leliana scowled darkly at him. “But it did happen. These are our lives. It was not pretend, what we went through. We suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real.” Her lips curled back disdainfully. “And you mages wonder why people fear magic,” she spat.

There was a moment of silence. Helena could feel Dorian’s shame from where she stood. Finally, the spymaster sighed. “Do you have weapons?” she asked.

“Yes,” Helena replied, grateful for the change in topic. “Except Solas.” Leliana wordlessly walked over to a large chest in the corner. She fiddled with it and flung it open, drawing out a bow and quiver for herself, and a very worn, shabby looking staff. She threw the staff at Solas, who caught it. He didn’t seem pleased by the quality, but he didn’t complain. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Cassandra began outlining a plan of attack. “Alexius is confined to the throne room. We must avoid attracting attention as much as we can, then barricade the room once we reach him.”

“The guards say that he is paranoid,” Leliana supplied. “No single person can enter his room. His senior officials each hold a key shard. Only together can they be used to gain access to the throne room.”

“Where do you think we can find these shards?” Helena asked.

Leliana shrugged. “Probably on someone who has on fine clothes,” she replied. “In this world, there are not many of us left. It will not be a hard task to track down his officials.”

“Unless much has changed, I should be able to navigate us better on the upper floors,” Dorian supplied. “I will keep us to the more out of the way paths where possible. I do remember where his chambers should be… let us hope he is there still.”

“You must return to your time before the Elder One is alerted to your presence here,” Leliana stated firmly. "Otherwise, we are all doomed.

They began moving out of the dungeons, towards Alexius, for once and for all.

Solas gripped her arm, holding her back from the rest. He was very close, and whispered quietly to her. “Be _very_ cautious of what you choose to impart to those in your time. While there are matters of importance, there are things they may not be ready to know. Too much knowledge might be the Inquisition's undoing. The only two people you should tell everything to are my past self, and Samarra. Be sure that the the Tevinter mage holds his tongue. I cannot stress the importance of this.” Helena nodded.

“One last thing,” he said, a thoughtful look on his face. “What I tell you now, is meant only for the past me. When you get back, tell the past me this: _gonun esem’sa_ ” He made her repeat it several times, till he was satisfied with her pronunciation.

“What is it for?” she asked him curiously.

He smiled enigmatically. “Something that will become clear in time. It is vital that you do not forget to inform the past me.”

“I won’t,” Helena promised.

Everything was going fairly smoothly. They dispatched the few patrolling guards left on the lower levels silently, looting their bodies for potions and information. When they surfaced to the courtyard, Helena gasped. “The Breach,” she exclaimed in horror. “ _What happened_?”

“The Elder One re-opened it,” Leliana said grimly. “Without you and the mark to close it, it spread throughout Thedas. The ripping of the Veil flooded the world with magic and demons, drove most people insane.”

They moved along the passageways silently. The upper floors were almost as bad a maze as the lower levels had been. With the red lyrium and locked doors hindering their path, they found themselves backtracking, and taking roundabout passageways.

“If red lyrium is an infection, _why is it growing out of the walls_?” Dorian whispered, horrified.

“Do you really want to know? Helena asked him.

As Leliana had predicted, it had not been a difficult task to identify Alexius’ senior officials. The four survivors of this terrible future were especially vicious, and easily brought down the mages. Solas, in particular, was ruthless. His spells practically caused the victims to explode, spraying blood and flesh all over the party. He didn’t care. Neither did the others. They almost seemed to revel in the carnage.

Helena and Dorian looted their corpses, finding the key shards. Dorian slotted them together, forming a circular disc that resembled a rune. “We have what we need,” Solas stated calmly, nodding at the key in Dorian’s hands. “Let us end this.”

They reached the Great Hall. Heavily armored guards patrolled the area alongside demons. They surveyed the scene in front of them, dismayed. There was no way they could make it past all of them.

“Dorian,” Solas addressed the mage calmly, “Would you happen to have any lyrium potions on you?”

“Yes,” the Tevinter mage replied. “Samarra told me to stock up before we left for Redcliffe Castle.”

Solas chuckled, a fond look on his face. “Of course she would. Can I have one, please. I think I know a way we can proceed forwards without engaging in a tiresome battle.” Wordlessly, Dorian handed him a slim vial of glowing blue liquid. Solas tossed it back quickly with a sigh. “Another, please,” he requested, and Dorian stared at him, aghast. “You cannot! Your mana will be severely imbalanced, you could die!”

“Please, Dorian. You must trust me.” Muttering unhappily, the Tevinter mage handed the elven apostate a second vial. Solas drank it, shuddering as he did. The taint of the red lyrium seemed to glow brighter. “Stand back,” he ordered the party, and they all took a few steps behind him. He began chanting quietly, strange-sounding words and phrases, and they could feel a shift in the atmosphere. The temperature in the room increased, till they were sweating profusely, but still Solas continued casting. He shouted the last word of his spell with a vicious snarl, and the entire room was flooded with flashfire, instantly incinerating anyone who was unfortunate enough to be caught in the midst of it. It burned bright and hot and vengeful for several minutes, then died down, and flickered away.

Solas collapsed heavily onto the ground, and Dorian rushed over to his side. “Here, man, drink!” he ordered, forcing a vial of lyrium between Solas’ lips. Helena watched, amazed, as the elf trembled for a few moments, then staggered to his feet. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “We must continue.”

They made their way to the door of the throne room. Dorian carefully slotted the key-rune into its respective slot. “Be careful,” he warned as he turned the key in its slot. “Alexius is a powerful mage.”

Helena thought she heard Solas scoff behind her.

They walked in, only to be met by an Alexius so vastly different from the one they’d left behind. He seemed resigned, almost repentant at everything he'd caused. Helena, for all her incredulity at his new attitude, and his remorseful words, actually thought that the man might just hand over the fucking amulet to them, just to be done with all this.

But, of course, _of course_ something would happen that would make things more difficult than they needed to be.

She could have strangled Leliana for her selfishness. Yes, she understood the spymaster’s need for revenge, but surely she could have held herself in check for a little while longer, instead of seizing Felix and slitting his throat? She should have known it would anger the magister!

Helena had to settle for a yell of frustrated exasperation.

The group moved like clockwork. Varric shut the giant doors, barring anyone from entering the room, while Helena and Cassandra took on the few guards in the room. Solas, Dorian and Leliana attacked the magister, and Varric joined in soon after. The guards dealt with, the two warriors joined in the fray.

Dealing with the magister was seethingly annoying, as he seemed to flit about the room. Then, just when she thought it would end, he summoned demons to his aid, and once again they had to split into two groups to deal with the new threat. Then she and Dorian had to hack and slice and freeze and burn their way through the demons to get to Alexius once more. Finally, at long last, the magister flitted away from the mages’ attack… and straight within thrusting distance of Cassandra’s sword. A sharp jab to his side, and Alexius fell to the ground, his blood spreading across the tiled floor.

Dorian was at his side in a flash, rummaging through the dead magister's robes for the amulet. He found it in one of Alexius' pockets, and held it up. It seemed like such an unremarkable thing, it wasn't even a pretty bauble, heavy and chunky as it was.

“Oh, Alexius,” Dorian sighed sorrowfully. His mouth twisted into an unhappy frown. “He wanted to die, didn’t he?” he asked no one in particular.

“Focus, Dorian,” she chided him. “We need to get back. Do you know how to get us back?”

“Yes, I think so. This is the same amulet he used before. I think… no, I believe it’s the same one we made back in Minrathous,” he exclaimed excitedly.

“ _You made this thing_?” Helena growled.

“Well, yes, but that’s a good thing!” he declared excitedly. “I should be able to work out the spell to get us back within an hour!”

“An hour?” Leliana interjected hotly. “That’s impossible! You must go _now_!”

That was when they hear _it_.

A screech that could not have possibly been made by a living creature. It shook the very foundation of the castle, causing the walls and the ground to shudder.

“The Elder One,” Solas declared solemnly.

Cassandra shook his head. “No,” she said bitterly, “it will not be him. It will be his _pet_.” She spat the last word out in disgust.

The four survivors exchanged a look, coming to some understanding. “Our lives are yours,” Cassandra spoke, her voice resounding with faith. “We will buy you as much time as we can.” Cassandra and Varric reopened the doors, sealing them firmly behind them. Solas and Leliana remained within, weapons in hand.

“Cast your spell, mage,” Leliana called out. “You have as much time as I have arrows.”

Dorian grabbed her arm, pulling her to the spot where they had been standing when Alexius had cast his spell.

The whole castle was shaking violently, plaster and rubble raining down upon them. It felt as though the walls would come crashing down any moment. Helena began to panic that they wouldn’t succeed, as a thunderous hammering sounded at the doors. With a resounding crash of metal against stone, the doors finally gave way, and Helena stood in absolute and horrified terror as a… _thing_ walked in, leading a massive group of demons.

She was sure she’d never been so scared in her life.

To her surprise, Solas addressed the leader. He said something in elven, words she didn’t understand, but she could make out from his tone that it was an apology. That was when she understood.

That _thing_ … was Samarra.

Her flesh had been sliced straight to the bone, the skin peeled back to expose muscle. Red lyrium crystals were embedded along the cuts in a grotesquely beautiful fashion. Lines of red lyrium ran up the column of her throat. Her cheekbones were dotted with rows of tiny red crystals. Her hair had been shorn off, and spikes of red lyrium rose from her skull in a circular fashion, a cruel mockery of a crown.

That, in itself, was nightmare-inducing. But it wasn’t the last of it. 

Her eyes were a milky, ghostly white, as though she had been blinded. Her eyelids had been cut off, and her eyes flickered, eerily, in all directions. Two sharp black rods extended outwards from her temples, leading Helena to wonder what exactly this Elder One had done to her.

  


“What good are your apologies?” Samarra hissed. “How would you know what I have suffered?” With what was clearly massive effort, she managed to halt the demons behind her. 

“Helena,” Samarra addressed her. “Yes?” she replied, swallowing hard. She couldn’t bear to look at Samarra. Samarra’s lips turned up into a frightening grin. “I do look quite a mess, don’t I?” she chuckled humorlessly. “This is what you must prevent.”

An angry roar shook thundered through the skies, and Samarra shuddered, dropping to the ground on her hands and knees. Black smoke poured out from the rods at her temples, and the wounds on her body began to ooze blood.

More alarmingly, the demons began moving towards them, easily ignoring the spells that Solas cast, and the arrows that Leliana shot.

“ ** _NO!_** ” Samarra growled, her fists clenched tightly. Helena could see her fighting for control of her mind. The red lyrium glowed angrily, but the seeress refused to cave in. Helena took a step forward when she saw the demons rip apart Cassandra and Varric, sobbing loudly. 

Dorian had to pull her back. “If you move, we all die!” he yelled at her.

Solas approached Samarra as though to offer her help, but she held him off with a wave of her hand. “Stay back, my friend,” she ground out. “I do not know if I can control myself if you get too close.” She turned her head towards Dorian. “Cast your spell quickly, mage. You have but moments. If the Elder One regains control of me, all of you will perish, and I have waited, and suffered, for far too long for you to fail now.”

There was another angry roar, and Samarra let out a cry of dismay. “Hurry!” she urged, before her eyes began to glow red. She pounced on Leliana, breaking the Nightingale’s neck in a single, fluid, motion. Her eyes went white again, and her features twisted into a plea. “Please, you must stop this,” Samarra begged. Helena could only watch in horror as Samarra’s eyes turned red again, and she turned her attacks towards Solas. She seemed to be trying to restrain herself, Helena had to grant her that, but in the end Solas lay lifeless amidst the rubble.

The sudden light that surrounded them almost came too late, but it could not have been more welcome. 

Helena shook, her eyes held tight, and praying hard that they were finally back in their time. She could hear familiar voices around her, and she opened her eyes.

Alexius was scrambling to his feet, a look of disbelief and defeat on his face.

Helena did what any sane person would do after having experienced the events she had: she walked up and punched Alexius right in the middle of the face, knocking him out.

She felt herself being caught in a warm, welcome embrace.

“Welcome back,” Samarra said softly, and at her words, Helena began to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what the message the future Solas had for the past one... _*wink wink nudge nudge*_
> 
> ... I'll just leave now, kthxbai.
> 
> * * *
> 
> So, I need help. There's a scene I'm in the middle of that requires a bit of Qunlat. The only problem is... there's no Qunlat reference, like there is Elven (Fenxshiral's works on elven are amazing and what I use to craft my elven dialogue). I'm tempted to substitute/supplement Qunlat with another language, what do you guys think? Or should I just leave it in english and format it (using bold/italics)? I'm kind of iffy about the second option because it kind of feels strange, but I'd love to know what other people think.


	42. Once Bitten, Twice Shy... Or, Diplomacy Makes Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Politics will always get you when you least expect it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> More artwork! This time from issuetheperson on Tumblr, who drew Samarra in a medieval art form [how awesome is it?!!] ([ see here for the full post)](http://issuestheperson.tumblr.com/post/149652894401/)
> 
> Also, [ Ladydracarys](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladydracarys/pseuds/Ladydracarys) drew [a Solas smoldering](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7908577) that's quite... wolfy. :D

* * *

Samarra held the sobbing woman in her arms tightly. She had only played the game, had only witnessed the horror of the future Redcliffe second hand. _How much more traumatic it would have been to experience it in person_ , she thought sympathetically.

“There, now,” she soothed. “You’re safe. We’re all safe.”

“They all _died_ ,” Helena sobbed, and from the corner of her eyes she could see Varric’s ears perk up a bit. “I couldn’t save you!” the brunette wept.

“Hush, don’t say that,” Samarra said quietly. “You came back. You’ve saved everyone.”

“You knew,” Helena hiccuped accusingly.

Samarra sighed. “I _suspected_ ,” she hedged. “My vision only showed you being drawn into a time portal. The rest, I had to guess.”

“You made sure Dorian and I were prepared. You told me not to lose hope,” Helena pulled back, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

“That is all I can do,” she held out her hands helplessly. “I can only prepare you, and support you. I’m sorry I could not be there with you. _Especially since the spirits told me if I was dragged in, I couldn’t return, and I would cease to exist forever. Time magic, man. Fucks everything up._

Helena seemed mollified. “What do we do about Alexius?” she asked.

Before Samarra could say anything, there was a clamor outside the doors. Moments later, the doors were flung open, and a regiment of heavily armed guards bearing the crest of Ferelden marched in, in rigid formation.

_Oh, yeah. This is the part where we meet Queen McBitch and King FuckYeahI’mAHero._

Two very irate looking monarchs walked in, and everyone immediately curtsied. Samarra snuck a peek at them, wanting to see ‘her’ Warden.

Aedan Cousland was a handsome man - which was to be expected, given that she’d ‘designed’ him. He was tall, lightly tanned with light brown hair that was neatly cut and styled. His eyes were a light grey, and his nose was slightly concave, with a protruding tip. His lips were fairly standard, nothing remarkable about it, except for the dimples that lurked near the edges.

She knew the man had a _killer_ smile.

Her first thought on seeing Anora was _oh, honey, you need to find more flattering makeup_. Catty? Yes. Bitchy? Probably. True? Absolutely. The woman was pretty enough, slender and sand blonde with hooded eyes. Her nose was unfortunately a little on the flatter side, and Helena wasn’t sure if her lips were actually that thin, or if they had become that way after years of expressing disapproval. She leaned towards the latter. Anora’s eyebrows were ridiculously thin, reminding her of a tweezer-happy teen. She’d also used way too much blush, and it sat on her skin like two very angry red circles. Samarra itched for a makeup brush to blend the color away.

Aedan spoke up, his voice deep and lush: “Grand Enchanter, we’d like to discuss your abuse of our hospitality.” The man was blunt and did not mince words, and Samarra knew he was really angry. In her playthrough, he’d only lost his temper when faced with abuse or extreme stupidity.

Fiona cowered as she approached them. Anora gave a disdainful sniff, instantly reminding her of Vivienne.

“Your majesties,” the grand enchanter began.

Anora cut her off. “When we offered the mages sanctuary, we did not give them the right to drive our people from their homes,” she said scathingly. 

“King Aedan, Queen Anora, I assure you, it was never our intent to…” Fiona tried to continue, but the infuriated monarchs would not let her.

“In light of your actions, good intentions are no longer enough,” Anora dictated. Aedan agreed. “You and your followers have worn out your welcome. Leave Ferelden, or we’ll be forced to make you leave,” he threatened.

_Whoa, calm down there bucko. You do know it’s not their fault, right? Oh wait, that’s right, you don’t know. Well, it isn’t. You’ll find out. Because I’ll tell you._

Fiona was shocked. “But.. we have hundreds who need protection! Where will we go?” she asked, fearful.

Helena looked at Samarra, who shrugged. As much as she wanted to tell the Herald what to do, it wasn’t her decision to make. Helena had to step up. And she did. The brunette stepped forward confidently, and spoke, much to everyone’s surprise. “I should point out that we did come here for mages to close the Breach,” she said.

“And what are the terms of this arrangement?” Fiona asked cautiously. _She doesn’t want to get burned twice. Which is good, but damn woman, we’re not blood mages. Or from Tevinter, Except Dorian, anyway. Or cultists. Well, there’s one blood mage, but he doesn’t arrive until later._ She forced herself not to think of Garrett Hawke, and to focus instead on what was going on.

“Hopefully better than the terms Alexius gave you. The Inquisition is better than that, yes? Dorian piped up. _Damn, dude. Do you just like the sound of your own voice? Oh wait a minute, you do. You totally do._ Samarra snickered, catching Solas’ attention.

“I suggest conscripting them,” Cassandra chimed in. “They’ve proven what they’ll do, given too much freedom.” _Oh fuck off, Cassandra. You want to know what the fucking Seekers do with ‘too much freedom’? Because you’ll find out, and I will laugh at that time. Okay, maybe not. But you really should stop being kinda bitchy._

Varric disagreed. “I’ve known a lot of mages,” he said. “They can be loyal friends, if you let them. Friends who make bad decisions,” he muttered, and Samarra withheld a smile, “but still. Loyal.”

Fiona sighed in defeat. “It seems we have little choice but to accept whatever you offer,” she said, a look of sadness on her face.

“I would like to hear what the Oracle thinks,” Helena said, surprising Samarra, and the King and Queen of Ferelden.

She cleared her throat uncomfortably, aware of Solas’ piercing gaze on her… and the curious looks the two monarchs gave her. “Your majesties,” she curtsied once again. “I admit it looks as though the mages have done wrong. But allow me to offer what my sight has shown me. The mages are innocent. The Tevinter magister not only turned back time to prevent the Inquisition from coming to the mages’ aid, but he also conducted a blood ritual to alter the Grand Enchanter’s mind.”

Fiona gasped. Aedan and Anora looked taken aback. “I propose we offer the mages a proper alliance. In these times of chaos, we cannot afford to discriminate. Let them join the Inquisition as full allies. Once they help us close the Breach, I hope your majesties will change your minds about allowing them to stay in Ferelden.”

Helena pondered over what she’d heard from everyone. Finally, she spoke up. “I have seen the worst that mages can do,” she began hesitantly, “but I refuse to believe that you are all evil. We would be honored to have you fight as allies at the Inquisition’s side,” she said. Leliana, Varric, and the two male mages looked pleased. Cassandra only huffed. “We’ll discuss this. Later.” the Seeker said ominously. Samarra grinned inwardly. Despite what the others believed, Helena was _already_ leading the Inquisition. 

“I’ll pray that the rest of your Inquisition honors your promise, then,” Fiona replied, having noted the Seeker’s unhappiness.

Helena shook her head. “The Breach threatens all of Thedas, nay, the world itself. We cannot afford to be divided now. We can’t fight it without you. Any chance of success requires your full support.” _Whoa, way to be diplomatic! Uhm, Josie, you might have competition._

“It’s a generous offer,” Aedan conceded. “I doubt you’re going to get a better one from us.” He continued firmly. “Closing the Breach will show us that you truly do value the welfare of the people. If you succeed at the task, Grand Enchanter, we will allow the mages into Ferelden.”

Fiona exhaled, and a weight seemed to fall from her shoulders. “We accept,” she said, sounding grateful. “It would be madness not to. I will gather my people and ready them for the journey to Haven. The Breach will be closed,” she promised, addressing both the monarchs and the members of the Inquisition. “You will not regret giving us this chance.”

Aedan and Anora nodded, and prepared to leave. _It’s now or never_. Samarra stepped forward towards the King, only to meet the tip of a his bodyguard’s sword. She gulped. Aedan spun around, surprised, narrowing his eyes when he spotted her. “Your majesty,” she said quietly. “If I may be so bold as to ask for a word? In private?”

He started intently at her for several seconds, before nodding. “Leave us,” he dismissed his bodyguards, and walked with Samarra towards a private corner, where they could be seen, but not overheard by the others. “Your majesty... “ Samarra stammered, “King Aedan… I know… that is to say…” 

He chuckled, and she relaxed at the sound. “Calm down, my lady,” he said with an amused smile. “I am still just another person. Now, tell me. What is it that the seeress wishes to divulge?”

Samarra ducked her head. “Your majesty, I know you have been hearing the Calling,” she said. There was silence, and she snuck a peek at his face. He looked… not angry, so that was a start. But he did look very curious. “I have not told anyone about this, your Highness,” she assured him. “I only wish to warn you. The Calling you hear, is false. It is not the true Calling. I have not yet been shown the cause of it, but my Sight has told me that it should not be heeded.”

“Why should I listen to you?” he asked softly.

“Because I have no reason to lie, your Highness. I truly only wish the best for you. I am sure the Inquisition will discover the cause behind it. But it will take time. Till then, I only beg of your Majesty to not do anything rash.”

He searched her face for any guile or deceit, and found none. “It is true I have begun hearing the song,” he admitted quietly, “and I have feared. I will heed your advice, seeress. I will delay my venture into the Deep Roads.”

“That’s all I ask, your Highness. Thank you.”

“It seems as though I should be thanking you, my lady…?”

“Samarra,” she supplied.

“Yes, well, I thank you for your warning, Lady Samarra.”

She watched as the King walked away to rejoin his spouse, and wondered why in the world she’d been stupid enough to get him to marry Anora when she could have just placed Alistair on the throne, and allowed him to wander around happily with Leliana. The poor woman looked at him with eyes filled with such longing and heartbreak, it made her heart ache.

_‘Course if you did that, it could be worse. Aedan could have been one of the wardens who was sacrificed. He’s no mage, remember?_

_Thanks for THAT gruesome reminder._

_Yo, that’s what I’m here for. Kick you when you’re down and all that jazz._

She rejoined her companions, ignoring the looks they sent her way. “You going to explain what that was about, Crimson?” Varric asked.

“Just a friendly favor to the King,” she brushed it off.

Felix approached them, his face filled with sadness. “Is it true?” he asked Samarra hoarsely. “My father… did he use blood magic?”

Samarra looked at him miserably. “Felix… I’m so sorry…” she trailed off.

“So it’s true, then,” he said bitterly. “My father was so obsessed with curing me he turned to the one thing he swore he would never do. It’s all my fault.”

“No,” Samarra said firmly. “Whatever choices your father made, are on his head. Do not blame yourself, Felix. You saw how he refused to listen to reason.”

“I know,” he replied unhappily. “But… he is still my father.”

“I know,” she said softly, and unable to bear his despair, pulled him into a hug. She was surprised he didn’t pull away immediately. “Have you decided what you’re going to do yet?” she asked.

He hesitated. “I was going to return to Minrathous, to try and address the Magisterium,” he said. “But I suspect they will strip my father of his title for the infamy he’s brought them. If the inquisition will have me, I will do all I can to repair my father’s misdeeds, in the time I have left.”

Samarra gave a Helena a pleading look. “Fine,” Helena huffed. “You’re in. I’m still really, really angry at your father, though. Don’t expect any mercy from me on his behalf, just because you’ve joined our side.”

“I accept,” he said calmly. 

“And I will try to find a cure,” she whispered to him. “You have my word.”

He gave her a resigned smile. “It is quite alright,” he answered softly. “I have made my peace. Everybody dies.”

She gripped his forearm tightly. “You are a good man, Felix Alexius. You deserve happiness.” she said with a ferocity that startled him.

“I don’t know what else to say, but thank you,” he replied after a moment.

She patted his cheek. “Come on. Let’s get out of here, shall we?” she spoke loud enough for everyone to here.

“Fuck, yes please, it’s about time.” Helena shuddered. “I need a bath.”

_Oh man, I’m REALLY not looking forward to telling Cullen we’re going to be having hundreds of mages in Haven._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, I pity the person who had to inform Cullen that the Herald had allied with the mages, and that all the rebel mages were going to land up in Haven...
> 
> " _What do you mean, the mages are coming!!!_ "
> 
> * * *
> 
> It's happened. Writer's block has reared it's ugly head! Aughhhhhhhhhhhhh. I'm hoping it goes in a couple of days, but until it does, updates might be a little less frequent than they've been so far. Sorry :(


	43. *Doubts And Insecurities, Regret and Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's a mixed bag of emotions when they return back to Haven.
> 
> Warning - Mildly NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> This has now been edited and updated!

Helena was quiet the most part of their journey back to Haven. Neither Samarra’s jokes nor Varric’s good-natured ribbing brought her out of her shell. Samarra knew the woman was probably suffering from a case of PTSD, and wondered what she could do about it. She was only trained in healing the body, not the mind. And as cruel as it sounded, Helena needed to process the events of future Redcliffe as quickly as she could. The future that they all faced had still more horrors they would have to live through, and as unfair as it was, Helena would have to bear the brunt of it all.

But not alone, Samarra swore. Never alone.

It was the day before they were to reach Haven that she finally opened up. Samarra and Solas were on the third shift, everyone having unanimously decided that Helena should get as much uninterrupted sleep as possible. The brunette had woken up far earlier than the start of her shift, and had come to sit out with them. For a while, she seemed content to listen to their quiet discussion - neither she nor Solas wanted to force the woman to talk till she was ready to - before breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen.

“It was horrible,” Helena began quietly, so quietly they could barely hear her. “Dorian and I were sent to the future… a future where I was to have died when I confronted Alexius. I… this mark…” she held out her hand. “Apparently, it’s a mistake? I’m not supposed to have it? But if I don’t… that future was so dark. Everyone I know was either dead, or dying. I watched as Cassandra and Varric were killed by demons…” Helena broke down into quiet sobs again, and Samarra immediately moved closer to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, Samarra,” the Herald cried out brokenly. “What the Elder One did to you…” Helena shook her head as though to repel the images. “And you,” the brunette looked at Solas. “You told me I could only trust you and Helena with the full story. So I’m telling you both, now, before we get to Haven.” Helena told them everything, not omitting a single detail.

Solas only looked thoughtful, while Samarra was rather horrified. Not just because Helena’s re-telling made everything feel so real and visceral, but also that… she apparently played a larger part in the story than she’d thought. The fact that Corypheus either already knew of her existence, or would know in the near future, unnerved her. And the fact that he intended to bind her mind? Scary as fuck. She knew what binding spell he’d use, the same one he’d used on Calpernia’s master - Magister Erasthenes - and she’d seen just how much pain the man had been in. Apparently, Corypheus was interested in her ability to see into the future, and wanted it for himself… which meant she would have to be incredibly careful and cautious of everything she did.

 _Why had Solas said he had failed, in that future scenario? Did he have something to do with my capture? Or did he just blame himself for not being able to protect me?_ Samarra wished her future self had given more information to Helena. But there was nothing they could do now, save prepare for the future.

“When we get back, we must look into protecting Haven,” Helena murmured abstractly. “There are already several hundred people there, and with the arrival of the mages, we will have close to a thousand lives to protect.” 

Samarra murmured her agreement. She excused herself, needing to pee urgently, and wandered off to the edge of the camp where they’d dug the toilet trench.

Helena turned towards Solas. “I have a message for you,” she said very quietly. Solas raised his eyebrows. “From your future self,” Helena explained. “He wanted me to tell you something. Said it was only meant for you, and no one else. I’m guessing it has something to do with Samarra,” she continued with a weak grin.

“What was it?” Solas asked her.

“Ummm, let’s see. Goonun ayesem sah? Gonuun eesam sah?” Helena shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t seem to get the pronunciation right.”

“ _Gonun esem’sa_?” Solas asked, intrigued.

“Yes!” Helena exclaimed. “That’s exactly it! What does it mean?” she asked, curious.

“It means ‘search for it’. I am afraid I do not understand what I am to be searching for. Perhaps it will come in time,” he casually said.

If Samarra had been around, she would have recognized the look in his eyes. _Predator._

But Helena was not Samarra, and was not overly familiar with Solas. “Oh,” she huffed, disappointedly. “Well, it must be something important. He wouldn’t have wanted me to send you a message for nothing, right? And he was so insistent, too. Made me practice over and over till I got it somewhat right.”

“Indeed,” Solas replied, a graceful tilt to his head. “We shall have to wait and see.” His eyes raked over Samarra’s form as she returned to the light of the campfire, but she didn’t notice.

They rode out at first light, eager to reach Haven as quickly as possible. She rode alongside Helena and Varric, behind Cassandra. Behind her, Solas and Dorian trailed, each sniping at the other in an attempt to determine who was more knowledgeable. _Sorry Dorian, but Solas has got that in the bag. He should, given how old he is_. Samarra snickered, drawing Varric’s attention. “You enjoying the drama between Sparkler and Chuckles?” he asked with a knowing grin.

“Heck yeah,” she answered.

“What are they even arguing about anyway?” Helena grumbled. “Counterveiling barriers? Supercharging Fade energy? What does that all mean, anyway?”

Samarra laughed and tried to explain. “Counterveiling barriers is just a fancy way of talking about destroying barriers. Supercharging Fade energy means - well, basically, we mages draw from the energy of the Fade to cast spells. If we concentrate that energy, we can draw more from the Fade, hence supercharging. Think of it like this - if you stuff a bag with cloth, it would fill readily and easily. But if you folded the cloth, and pressed it down in the bag, you could fit more cloth into the bag. It’s kind of like that. Does that make sense?”

“Then why can’t they just say so?” Helena complained.

“Because we’re fancy mages who like using fancy terms? Because we like using the accurate terms for what we do?,” Dorian spoke up. “That was a rather remarkable explanation, by the way. Simple, and effective. Were you ever a teacher?” he asked.

“Nope,” Samarra laughed. “Ever the student.” She and Dorian had come to a truce of sorts. She’d kept a close eye on him, to see if he was holding up okay, but he seemed to be mostly fine. She was still planning on having a little chat with him later in private, though. It wasn’t good to bottle things up. 

They reached the village mid-morning, where Cullen was anxiously awaiting them. When his eyes landed on Helena, his face shifted into a look of relief. Varric noticed the change, and nudged Samarra, giving her a wide grin and a wink. “Looks like Curly’s got the hots for Glowbug,” he cackled. 

“I bet she ends up having to make the first move, though,” Samarra joined him.

“Oh come on, that’s no fair bet. Curly? The man’s a beast when it comes to anything military related, but girls are a foreign species to him.”

“He doesn’t seem to like me very much,” she told the dwarf as they walked in through the gates together.

“Ehh, that’s just Curly for you. He’s kind of scared of you.”

“I figured as much, I just don’t know why. It’s not like I’ve done anything scary.”

“Crimson, every damn thing you do is scary. I mean, the whole visions thing? You get this look in your eye when you’re having one… and then you won’t tell any of us about it. When he finds out what went down at Redcliffe, he’s going to want your hide.”

“Don’t remind me,” she groaned.

Chuckling, the dwarf split ways with her, returning to the hut he shared with the elven apostate. She entered her room, to find Helena already there. “You okay?” she asked quietly.

“I’m not sure,” Helena confessed. “I’m just trying to wrap my mind around everything. Part of me thinks that what happened at Redcliffe wasn’t real. I mean, time travel? Being sent into the future? It sounds so ridiculous now that I’m back here. But the bigger part of me knows it’s real. I know that if I fail, if I die, then the world crumbles. It’s… it’s a huge responsibility. I just thought, oh well, we’ll get some help, close the Breach, and we can all get on with our lives. Now it looks as though that isn’t possible. There’s more evil lurking beneath the surface than I expected. And knowing that I’m the key to sorting out this whole mess… it’s kind of overwhelming.”

“I can’t say I know what you’re going through,” _Well, not exactly, I’ve only played the Inquisitor several times, and I wasn’t so emotionally invested or taxed,_ “but you have to remember, you’re not alone. You have advisors to help you, companions and friends to assist you. You’re not going to do it alone.”

“Hah,” Helena exclaimed bitterly. “They all just want to use me. Leliana and Cassandra paint me as some divine being, they want me to restore the Chantry. Cullen wants me to stop the mage-templar war. Varric is here to get ideas for his stories, Sera’s here because she wants to make sure her little group is going to be okay, Vivienne because she thinks the Inquisition will increase her power and reputation. Iron Bull wants to send information back to the Ben-Hassrath. Everyone is in the Inquisition for something, not because they only want to do good.”

“What about me?” Samarra asked quietly. “Do you think I want anything?”

“No,” Helena admitted. “I don’t know what to think of Dorian, either. He’s aggravating, but he’s opting to help us, unlike the rest of his Tevinter compatriots.”

Samarra gave a small smile. “Perhaps us mages cling to the Inquisition because it’s the safest option for us,” she said, knowing there was a measure of truth to it.

“Maybe so,” Helena said after a pause. “Is that the case?” she asked doubtfully.

“It is true I don’t have a home to call my own,” Samarra said. “Perhaps neither do the other two, I don’t know. But I stayed to help because I wanted to.”

Helena sighed heavily. “Will I ever be able to fully trust everyone?” she asked softly. 

“Give it time, and find out for yourself,” Samarra urged. “In the meantime, don’t allow yourself to be pushed over. Don’t let other people use you as a puppet.”

“Is that why you won’t tell me what to do?” Helena asked curiously. 

“Kind of,” Samarra said. “But truly, it is your decisions that will guide the Inquisition, no matter what anyone says. It would be morally wrong of me to force my choices onto you. That being said,” she grinned, “if I think you’re going to do something really stupid, you bet I’m going to kick your ass!”

Helena chuckled. “I should hope so,” she joked. “I might need someone to keep me in line.”

A knock on the door indicated that Helena’s bath was ready. Samarra stripped off her armor and left, giving Helena some privacy. The truth was, she needed some privacy herself. She wandered through the village, seeking for a quiet spot. Finally, she ended up by the docks, and sat down heavily on a crate, resting her head in her hands.

 _I’ve doomed the templars. God help me._ She knew many of them were just regular men, lead astray by their corrupted superior officers, and Samson. She knew the red lyrium would cause a good number to suffer, and even more - if not all - to die. _Unless there’s a cure for red lyrium. Maybe there is. It’s just regular lyrium with the Blight, right? Maybe if we can find a cure for the Blight, we could help the red templars?_

It seemed an impossibility. Samarra had seen just how twisted and corrupted they had become, mindless beings who thought of nothing but the distorted song of the red crystal.

Some of them were good men, and she had had a part in dooming them all.

She choked back a sob.

How long she wept for, alone in the quiet, isolated corner of the lake surrounded by freshly-fallen snow she did not know. She brushed the tears off her face, and whispered a prayer for their souls, and begged for forgiveness from _someone._

As she made her way back, she was accosted by Solas. “A word?” he asked, noting her red-rimmed eyes.

“Is it urgent?” she asked tiredly. She just wanted a bath, some food, and a good night’s rest.

“It will not take long,” he replied.

“Very well,” she said, and began walking with him, away from the village.

“As you have heard from the Herald,” he began, “this Elder One, whoever he may be, has designs on you. You must be wary.”

“I’m aware of it,” Samarra said softly. “I’ll figure something out.”

“If you wish, I can help,” he said. “There must be some spell that could keep you safe.”

She sighed. “I could use your help,” she stated. “But don’t think I’ve forgiven you for what you did the other night. It was so wrong of you to try to interrogate me when I was… not quite myself.”

His eyes flashed, and Samarra wondered why. _What did I say to him? I remember yelling at him, when he was asking me a question… but surely he can’t be offended… oh hang on, I did say I don’t need his help, right? Should I stick to it? Nah, don’t be an idiot. If Coryphy-ass wants to fuck you up, you could use the Dread Wolf’s help, you know._

“I was only trying to help,” he said calmly, even though his eyes were turbulent.

“No,” Samarra argued, “You were trying to find out what I knew. There’s a reason I don’t share my visions, Solas, I’ve told you this before. For you to try and take advantage of a situation like that is not right, and I can’t believe you cannot see how inappropriate it was!”

“Inappropriate?” he growled. “If you believe _that_ was inappropriate, you are sadly mistaken. Allow me to demonstrate what the word _really_ signifies.” Before Samarra could understand what he meant by that, he yanked her against him, hard. Gripping her face between his hands, his fingers pressing a little painfully into her skin, he captured her lips in a hard, brutal, punishing kiss. It was fierce and rough; his teeth sank deeply into the soft flesh of her lower lip, drawing blood. He growled at the taste of it, sweeping his tongue over her abused flesh. She gave a gasp of pleasure-pain, and he used the opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth, unashamedly exploring the warm cavern, running his tongue over her teeth, the roof of her mouth, battling for domination with hers... 

For several seconds she stood perfectly still, her mind not comprehending what was going on. But her traitorous body instantly reacted to the pleasure his touch brought her, and her hands gripped his tunic tightly, and she pressed herself closer to him. There was a fire that ignited deep in her belly. She mewled softly, whimpering, urging him for more, and he growled in approval.

Then her mind caught up.

_He's kissing you. You're kissing him. You're kissing him! What are you doing? You can't fall for him! It's too dangerous!_

_But... what's the harm in a kiss?_

_You really want to talk about that while you're playing tongue tag with him? HE'S THE DREAD WOLF, REMEMBER? Falling for him, no bueno. Do keep a rein on that libido of yours, will you?_

She shoved him away from her, catching him off guard. “What the _fuck_ was that?” she hissed, touching her lips gingerly.

He took a step towards her, his eyes landing on her swollen, bloody lips. His own curled up in a feral smirk. “I believe that was my idea of inappropriate.” he drawled.

She slapped him then, the flat of her palm striking his cheek, leaving a red mark behind, unable to come up with a better response. “Don’t _ever_ fucking do that again,” she swore at him. 

He took another step towards her, forcing her to take one backwards, away from him. “I know you found it pleasurable,” he grinned wickedly. “Why do you not let yourself pursue it?”

_Because if I do that, I might fall for you, old wolf, and that would be very, very dangerous indeed. A girl can't have everything that brings her pleasure, you know._

She quirked her brow at him. “If I _had_ enjoyed it, Solas, trust me, we’d still be kissing,” she said evenly, then strode past him. His hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist, forcing her to stop. “Let. Go.” she said icily.

“This is not the end, Samarra,” his voice seemed to wrap itself around her. “Not by any means,” he promised darkly. "Whatever you are hiding, I _will_ pry it out." 

“We’ll just have to see about that,” she muttered, pulling free from his grasp. She all but ran back to the village, the sound of his sinfully rich laughter echoing in her ears.

_What. The. Fuck. Just. Happened._

_And how do I stop it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT U DOING SOLAS DAS NOT HOW A FIRST KISS IS SUPPOSED TO BE
> 
> WHAT IS HAPPENING EVEN


	44. Arguments and Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mages at Haven!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly [currently battling writer's block!]
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> NB - Chapter 43 has been updated!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who gave me such wonderful critique! Your comments are really appreciated, and I'm humbled to know that so many of you enjoy my writing. Thank you!! ❤
> 
> * * *

“It’s not a matter for debate!” Cullen thumped his fists against the table. “There will be abominations among the mages, and we must be prepared!”

Josephine sighed. “If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst,” the ambassador calmly explained.

_That_ was the scene Helena and Samarra walked into.

Cullen turned towards them. “What were you thinking?” he rebuked Helena, but his eyes were on Samarra. “Turning the mages loose, with no oversight? The Veil is torn apart!”

“We need them to close the Breach,” Helena remained calm in the face of the Commander’s vituperative tone. “Do you think that will work if we make enemies or prisoners of them? Besides, Commander, they are people, like you and I, and have been locked up for long enough. Don’t you think it’s time they deserve freedom?”

“I know we need them for the Breach,” he argued hotly, “but they could do as much damage as the demons themselves!”

Samarra bit her tongue. This wasn’t her fight, and she shouldn’t get drawn in. Even though Cullen’s words absolutely irked her - for heaven’s sake, when she’d joined Haven she was an untrained mage, and she hadn’t set them on fire or anything - it was best that Helena handle him.

Besides, she had a feeling if she said anything he would just attack her instead.

“You were there, Seeker!” He turned his attention to Cassandra. “Why didn’t you intervene?” he asked.

“Because no one save Helena had the knowledge to make the decision,” Samarra interjected. 

Okay, so she _really_ sucked at keeping her mouth shut. 

“You can argue about this decision all you want, Commander, but it was Helena who underwent the ordeal. If after everything she went through, she still deemed it appropriate to ally with the mages, well, there isn’t much you can do about the matter, is there? I mean sure, you can turn away the mages when they arrive - earning the Inquisition a really bad reputation - you try to round them up and guard them with templars - in which case I will personally make you regret it - but let me reiterate, you weren’t there, so you can’t whine about it.”

Cullen’s face turned red with anger, and his fists clenched involuntarily. “Was that a threat, _mage_?”

“Cullen, calm down,” Cassandra told him, giving Samarra a reproachful glare. “While I may not completely agree with the decision, I support it. The Herald’s mission was to gain the support of the mages, was it not, and that has been accomplished.”

Dorian strode in as though he owned the place. “The voice of pragmatism speaks!” he declared cockily. “And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.”

“They were getting a bit tiresome, weren’t they?” Samarra agreed.

“Closing the Breach is all that matters,” the Seeker firmly declared.

“I’ve seen what is at stake here,” Helena said, a grim look on her face. “The longer the Breach is open, the more damage it does. We should head there as soon as possible.”

“The mages will arrive within the week,” Josephine said. “It will take a few days for them to settle down. There is also the matter of obtaining lyrium.”

“Will they require any training?” Samarra asked Dorian.

“No,” the Tevinter mage replied. “If what the elven apostate has said is correct - and I rather suspect it is - the mark on the Herald’s hand needs more power. Every mage knows how to direct their willpower to another, to form the connection. It will be up to the Grand Enchanter - and the four of us, no doubt - to ensure that the effort is coordinated smoothly.”

“So how long are we looking at?” Helena asked.

“Two weeks, I should think,” Cassandra said, and Leliana nodded her head in agreement. “There is also the matter of this dark future you spoke of. What exactly did you learn?”

Helena briefly rushed them through Alexius’ declaration of serving an Elder One who would become God, of the fact that Empress Celene would be assassinated, and that a demon army would attack and raze Thedas. “And if we do nothing to stop any of it, the Elder One will conquer all of Thedas,” she warned. “It is of vital importance to close the Breach.”

“You forgot one detail,” Dorian reminded her.

“Right. This Elder One, whoever he is, has learned of the Oracle,” Helena continued, giving Samarra a sympathetic glance. “He is intrigued by her, and will try to seize her for himself if given the chance. If he succeeds, he will bind her, and force her to do his bidding.”

Cassandra and the three advisors all gave her uneasy looks. “I will have guards stationed outside your cottage,” Cullen said firmly. “The two of you are of importance to the Inquisition; we cannot have either of you fall.”

“And I will try my best not to fling myself into situations where I could be in danger,” Samarra promised, half-joking, half-serious.

“We must look into this dark future you saw,” Leliana murmured. “The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?”

“Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do. Orlais falls, and the Imperium rises. Chaos everywhere!” Dorian declared.

“Have you seen anything in your visions?” Leliana asked her.

“Nothing,” Samarra said. “I’ve been having a few of the same vision - that of Haven coming under attack. I think it means it will happen, and soon. We must be prepared.”

“We have supplies well stocked,” Leliana assured her.

“At the first sign of trouble, we must evacuate all the villagers,” Cullen said. “Do we know who will attack?”

Samarra shrugged, but Helena gnawed on her lip nervously.

Leliana noticed. “What is it?” she asked.

“I… I think I know who will attack,” Helena whispered. “It will be… the templars.”

“The templars!” Cullen exclaimed in disbelief. “Have you lost your senses, Herald? Why would the templars attack?”

“Perhaps in retribution for us siding with the mages?” Leliana suggested.

_Welp. This wasn’t supposed to come out yet. I didn’t think Helena would connect the dots. Either that, or someone must have told her in the future Redcliffe._

“Has there been any news from Therinfal Redoubt?” Cassandra demanded. "We know the templars have occupied the fortress."

“None at all,” Josephine said, troubled. “All our letters have gone unanswered.”

“Perhaps we should investigate Therinfal,” Leliana spoke.

“That’s a good idea.” Helena spoke up. “We need to find out what’s going on with the templars.”

“We should have approached them from the start,” Cullen muttered.

“What’s done is done,” Cassandra declared. “There is no point ruminating over it.”

“Ask the Chargers for help,” Samarra suggested. “They are a smaller group, and might be able to get closer than sending in troops.”

“Hmmm, that would work,” Leliana said, her eyes glittering. “It calls for a light touch. I can send some scouts with them to create a distraction, letting them sneak closer.”

“Great,” Helena stated. “That’s sounds like a plan.”

“Will they be able to go to Therinfal and return by the time we close the Breach?” Samarra asked casually.

“Yes, Therinfal is less than a week’s ride from here. They should return with ample time to recover,” Leliana answered, giving her a piercing look.

“Good to know.”

They - or rather, Helena - handled some more minor missions, mostly letters asking for help from various farmers and nobles. Josephine was to send emissaries to Starkhaven in response to Prince Sebastian’s letter - Samarra almost asked if she could be a part of the emissary group, wanting to see Chantry Boy for herself, but refrained. Josephine had been successful in dealing with some of the clerics in the Chantry, as a result of which the Inquisition had gained the Chantry as a political ally. Samarra wasn’t sure what to think of it. They had also received a letter requesting help from the University of Orlais, It was considered best that Josephine handle the matter; it needed a delicate touch to soothe both the Chantry, and the University, and if anyone was capable of handling the matter, it was the ambassador.

Once matters had been dealt with, they ended the meeting and broke for lunch. Samarra hurried after Cullen, and placed a hand on his arm. “Commander, a moment?” she asked. He tensed, but stopped. “What is it?” he asked, somewhat harshly.

“I wanted to apologize, for earlier,” she said sheepishly. “I… sometimes have a hard time keeping my mouth shut. I know you aren’t too fond of me, but I’ve heard from the other mages in Haven that you treat them with respect, and I shouldn’t have been so harsh on you. You just want to keep the villagers safe, I know. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.”

He hesitated a moment. “It is not all your fault,” he admitted at last. “I have had… some bad experiences with mage abominations in my past. Sometimes, it gets the best of me. I will try to keep an open mind,” he conceded.

_And that’s why I think you’re a good guy, Curly._

“It wouldn’t hurt to have the templars patrol the village once the mages arrive,” she compromised.

“I will keep patrols to a minimum, and educate the templars on proper conduct,” he agreed.

They shared a tentative smile. “Forgive me?” Samarra asked, holding out her hand.

“Only if you do the same, he replied, shaking her hand in return.

“We’re good,” she said, her smile widening. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Perhaps in the future, we should discuss matters we disagree on, and try to find a compromise.”

“I’m down with that,” she said with a short laugh.

“I beg your pardon?” he looked confused.

“I meant, I’m amenable to your suggestion,” she explained.

“Oh,” he said, still confused. “Good.”

“I’ll see you around, Commander,” she excused herself. “Let me know if you require more potions.”

* * *

The week preceding the arrival of the mages was spent in planning. Samarra had many discussions with Cullen, pushing him to finish construction of the trebuchets. Instead of the three in the game, there were now ten, all of them calibrated and aimed at the mountains. It had been an interesting argument with the Commander, before he grudgingly agreed that any forces that thought of attacking Haven would have to travel over the mountains.

She also got Leliana to increase the rations and supplies the spymaster had hoarded away in their exit route, giving her the excuse that they were to double their numbers with the arrival of the mages. The Nightingale agreed, although she still tried to probe often - unsuccessfully - as to why they were needed.

She stalked Haven, trying to locate the whereabouts of the mine shaft Helena would fall into. Once it was discovered, she made sure to ignore it, not wanting to draw attention to it. The last thing she needed was someone coming across it, and replacing the rotting wood that covered it with sturdier, tougher wood. She found an alternate passageway behind Apothecary Teigan’s hut, and snuck away one afternoon to place a crate of healing potions, pain elixirs and cold resistance tonics for Helena to find when she needed it the most.

She also devoured as many books as she could on as many subjects as she could. Josephine had been very pleased to find out that Samarra was interested in learning about the nobility, and they spent an hour and a half each day over tea and cake discussing the noble families of Ferelden, Orlais, the Free Marches, even Nevarra and Antiva. Josephine also taught her about artists, and poets, and musicians, and their patrons.

It was a lot of information to take in, and sometimes her head swirled. But Samarra diligently took notes, and soon she had filled two journals with the things she’d learnt.

Her days were meticulously structured; early mornings were spent with the spymaster, who continued to teach her how to wield dual blades. After which she had a shower, then breakfast with her healers, and did a routine check up on the patients in the infirmary. Then it was lessons with Solas, and he taught her how to correctly handle a staff. Dorian joined in most days, and she had a lot of fun watching the Tevinter and the elf argue about what to teach her. She and Dorian would go to the tavern for lunch, joining Helena and Varric, with the Seeker occasionally joining in. Post lunch, she would make another round of the infirmary, check up on potion and stock supplies, then claim a quiet corner of the training ground to practice her _Dirth’ena Enasalin_ and _Panathe’virelan_ techniques. She was becoming quite good at them, if she said so herself. She was half-tempted to ask Cassandra to teach her how to spar with a sword, because her skills with the spirit blade seemed rather rustic and basic, but decided to wait till she had mastered her dual daggers. There was still time, after all. After her private, personal self-training session, she wiped down, and dressed nicely for her tea with the ambassador. Lady Vivienne had tried to join in at the beginning, but she had brought such a negativity to the atmosphere they began excluding her, the ambassador cleverly re-scheduling their tea meetings to a time when Madame de Fer was occupied with the nobles who visited Haven.

After tea, she would head over to the archery practice and go slightly nuts with Sera. The talented archery prodigy taught her several new moves, and they had a lot of fun shooting arrows at targets… and sometimes at nugs, though they made sure to do _that_ out of sight of the spymaster, although Samarra knew that it would inevitably reach the spymaster's ears. On one occasion, Sera caused a noblewoman who had been rude to the servants to soil her skirts by smashing a jar of bees near the woman, who had been stung terribly, and had had to spend the night in the infirmary. Samarra had found it funny at first, but the noble had complained terribly in the infirmary, giving Samarra and everyone else there a massive headache, so much so Giles mixed a sleeping draught into her supper to shut her up.

Evenings were spent at the tavern, over drinks, food and on occasion, cards. Samarra soon learned that no one - but no one - could out-drink the qunari, not even Varric, who had an impressive tolerance to alcohol. The usual group was Varric, herself, Helena and Iron Bull, but Dorian joined them more often than not. Sera joined in sometimes, but usually was off doing her thing - probably some Red-Jenny-related business, Samarra suspected. Cassandra would join them for dinner, but would leave soon after, although if persuaded she would stay for a game or two of Wicked Grace. Vivienne, of course, refused to step foot in the tavern, a fact which greatly pleased everyone. Solas had been absent of late, especially after his… inappropriate… behaviour. Samarra wondered if it was because he was ashamed, or because he regretted it, but chose not to dwell on the matter.

She would _not_ fall for the wolf.

Dorian had become far nicer after their spar, and had gained a lot of respect for her. She enjoyed their conversations and discussions; he was an intelligent, well-read man, and his grasp of theoretical magic was astounding. They also had passionate arguments about political topics, with Dorian starting to thaw on his stance on slavery. Samarra was extremely glad that the Tevinter mage had mellowed out; it was nice to have his company, especially since she had no idea how to deal with Solas.

She was also avoiding the Dread Wolf in the Fade. She couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, no matter how hard she tried, dissecting the event from all angles. He hadn’t been gentle, he had been rough; cruel, almost. Why? And why had he kissed her at all? He wasn’t supposed to like human women. Was that why he’d been so rough? Because he hadn’t enjoyed kissing her at all? Was it meant to be some kind of mental manipulation? He’d told her it wasn’t the end. What had he meant by that? It was dangerous territory, in part because she had... she had enjoyed it, but she didn't know if he had. Sure, he _claimed_ to find it pleasurable, but was he genuine, or was this just another way of throwing her off guard? If it was, she supposed he'd succeeded, given how often she found herself replaying the event in her head...

Why was he behaving like this? It… it didn’t fit in with what she knew of him. Even the in-game character description had stated he was polite, reserved, calm, and difficult to antagonize. Yet she seemed to be able to antagonize him fairly easily. He was all of those traits with the others, but with her, he was vastly different. Why? Was it because she could speak elven? She’d noticed that he enjoyed it when they conversed in his tongue, and, feeling sorry for him, had tried to use it as often as she could. Most of their Fade conversations were in elven...

He hadn’t approached her, hadn’t made any effort to apologize. When they met for practice, his eyes would rake over her, leaving her feeling somewhat vulnerable... and _very_ aroused, something she just _knew_ he was aware of. He seemed to touch her more often than usual, usually under the guise of correcting a stance, or changing her grip. Each time he did so, a light flare of magic would pass through her, setting alight her nerves.

He was doing it on purpose, the bastard. It flustered her that it was only him that could make her feel this way. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that it affected her. Dorian's magic didn't affect her the way his did. Which was why she’d asked Dorian for help as well; the Tevinter’s presence definitely irritated the elven apostate, and he was usually curt when Dorian was around.

But it _was_ getting harder and harder to ignore the attraction she felt towards him. And that was dangerous. Beyond dangerous. Falling for the wolf was the gravest mistake she could make.

* * *

The mages’ arrival was a major event. Many of the villagers were anxious at the prospect of so many mages being in the same area as them. Rumors of abominations, and blood mages flew around, and poor Cullen and his templars had to reassure them, time and again, that everything would be dealt with accordingly.

Finally, Cullen had approached her and pleaded with her to talk to some of the villagers. He wasn’t sure if they’d trust Solas, he said, and everyone tended to keep away from Dorian because he was from Tevinter. Vivienne had flat out refused, not wanting to be associated with the Libertarian mages. So Samarra had addressed some of the toughest dissenters, calmly reminding them that she was a mage, and hadn’t she cured Jonah of his terrible cough, and Alberta of the pox? Her words had seemed to break through some of their barriers, and by the time the mages had settled in, most of the rumors had stopped. Josephine had managed to set up accommodations for all the mages, and all of them were pleased with the care and concern of the ambassador. Fiona herself was mostly overjoyed by the fact that the Inquisition intended to keep their word.

The four ‘senior’ mages of the Inquisition, and the Grand Enchanter, met everyday to plan the coordination of the mages. Vivienne proved to be most troublesome, until Fiona had had enough and asked the woman to leave, telling her that the First Enchanter held no sway with the rebel mages, being a Loyalist. Vivienne, having realized that Fiona would really hold her back, grudgingly behaved better, not wanting to inadvertently lose a chance to gain favor by not being a team player. They finally settled on a plan - the senior mages would first power the Anchor, allowing Helena a chance to familiarize herself with the feeling, before the Grand Enchanter directed the mages to add their power to the mark.

Samarra was worried, not only because she did not know how to direct her will towards another, but also because the strain of closing the Breach could be harmful to Helena. She explained this to the others, and they decided that Samarra would stay close to the Herald, and heal her as and when necessary.

* * *

“We’ve received some bad news,” Leliana said grimly, handing over a report to Cullen. He began reading it aloud. “Thanks to the distraction provided by Inquisition scouts, the Chargers were able to get into Therinfal Redoubt. It’s largely deserted, but there are clear signs that the templars joined a much greater force. We found a refined form of lyrium and a large number of templar corpses. Judging by their wounds, they were executed after falling ill. We also found signs of-” Cullen let out a stunned gasp. “Maker’s breath!”

“Continue, Cullen” Cassandra urged him.

“We also found signs of demonic activity, although there were no rifts present. This place was home to something powerful and malevolent, and judging from the signs of violence at Redoubt, it fled when the main force of templars left.”

There was silence in the room as the Herald and her advisors processed the news.

“So, it will be the templars who attack,” Cullen was the first to speak. “If that is so, we cannot afford to delay closing the Breach.”

“What do our defenses look like, Commander?” Leliana asked.

“We’ve done as much as we can. Haven isn’t meant for a military force. Our advantage comes from the mountains. If we can target the force before they can reach us, we have a chance.”

“There is a chance we may not be attacked at all,” Josephine tried to remain optimistic. “Did the report not mention possible enemy troop movements? Cullen, what can you decipher from them?”

“They don’t seem to be heading in our direction,” Cullen conceded slowly.

“All we can do is prepare as much as we can, and hope for the best,” Leliana remained practical. “Between the Oracle’s information, and the Charger’s report, we should prepare for all possibilities.”

“But first we must close the Breach,” Cassandra noted. “Herald, are you ready?”

Helena nodded. “Yes. As much as I can be.”

“We are here with you, Herald,” Cullen assured her.

The Herald took a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> _Dirth'ena Enasalin_ \- Arcane warrior
> 
> _Panathe'virelan_ \- Battlemage
> 
> It took so long to get to Redcliffe, but I kind of feel bad because the story's picking up speed now :(


	45. Veil Rule #1: All Breaches Must Be Sealed Completely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald closes the Breach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly [currently battling writer's block!]
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I'm always blown away anytime someone sketches out any of the characters I write about. Issuetheperson on Tumblr drew a worried Helena in Steven Universe style ([ and more doodles!)](http://issuestheperson.tumblr.com/post/150111790051/doodles/) Thank you so much! :)

* * *

Hundreds of mages trekked up the mountains in the bright sunlight towards the charred remains of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Despite the vast numbers, there was silence, a mounting tension in the air. They each used their staffs to help them walk, especially when the terrain became rocky and steep.

The four dozen or so templars in the Inquisition walked alongside them, warily keeping an eye out as the mages approached closer to the tear in the Veil. This close to the Fade, there were worries about the possibility of possession. One of the mages commented that he could feel his magic more clearly, and he was immediately hushed by his companions, all of whom seemed to be terrified by the templars.

In any other situation, Samarra would have been okay with coddling them a bit, and mollifying them, but her mind was too preoccupied with other things. Several of Leliana’s scouts were reported as missing earlier in the day, and the spymaster had given the order for the others to pull back. Samarra knew the attack was near, but when exactly it would come she could not say. Judging by the locations of the missing scouts, she theorized that the army could be a day or two from Haven, a sentiment apparently shared by Leliana and Cullen, who had increased patrols on the outskirts of the village.

As they approached the ruins, the mages began to chant quietly. Samarra recognized the spell as one of protection, and sure enough, the Fade around her began shifting, forming a sort of barrier around the ruins. She wondered what it was for, and asked the Grand Enchanter as such.

“It is a containment spell,” Fiona explained. “Should there be any damage done during the process of closing the Breach, the spell will protect not only the people, but also prevent any debris from escaping the area." Samarra thought it was a wise decision indeed, but she noted that some of the templars looked a little antsy, probably not used to feeling so much magic around them. 

They reached the heart of the ruins of the temple, where the Breach still glowed and shimmered. Threads of that familiar green light trailed down from it in a eerie fashion. Fiona gave out the order for the mages to spread out around the Breach, and the mages obeyed. After several more orders, and a lot of adjusting, the mages were ready, circling the Breach, their staffs ready in hand and awaiting the Grand Enchanter’s signal. Fiona herself stood upon the tallest point in the midst of the devastated ruins of the temple, clearly visible to all her people, and to the members of the Inquisition as well.

The templars, as well as Cassandra, Varric, Sera, Blackwall, Iron Bull and his Chargers formed a second, tighter circle closer to the Breach, on guard, and ready for any demon attacks. Cullen and a few of the soldiers stood around in strategic positions around the Breach, ready to rush in at the first sign of trouble. The four mages stood closest to the Breach, all of them flanking Helena, who looked grim and determined.

“Are you ready?” Samarra quietly asked her.

“I have to be,” the Herald replied, gritting her teeth. “This must be done.”

A silent agreement passed through the Inquisition mages, and the Herald. As if on cue, the mark on Helena’s hand burst into life. Samarra eyed Solas suspiciously. She was sure he had caused it, but she wasn’t sure how. Regardless, the Anchor immediately caught onto the trails of light from the Breach.

“It begins,” she thought she heard Cassandra mumble.

Helena walked closer to the Breach, her face twisted into a mask of intense concentration. The closer she got, the more the edges of the Breach seemed to connect with her mark. She began the slow, arduous process of closing it, the strain of it showing on her face, and in the sweat that beaded her forehead. “I need some help here!” the Herald shouted, and immediately the three mages struck the ground. Samarra gasped as she felt their combined wills brush up against her. There was so much of raw power there, she found it hard to resist tapping into it. She shook her head and focused on Helena, keeping a clinical eye on the brunette. The Herald was clearly under a great deal of strain, but she looked to be handling it well.

The Breach began to curl in at the edges ever so slightly. Noticing it, the Grand Enchanter boomed out her command. “Mages!” she thundered. “Focus past the Herald! Let her will draw from you! The mages turned their staffs upside down, the focus tip facing the earth. Fiona waited for a few moments till she saw the Herald could do no more. “NOW!” she bellowed, and one by one, in synchrony, the mages struck the ground forcefully with their staffs, kneeling on the ground as they did so. Samarra reeled back as the sheer power of all the mages rushed into her. She felt her magic flare up in harmony, as though some deep, distant part of her recognized that _this_ was how she _should_ be. The moment passed.

Nothing that the game cutscene had depicted had even remotely shown how much power there was. Samarra was suddenly fearful; if this was the kind of power Solas had one wielded, would wield after defeating Corypheus, then perhaps she was a complete and utter fool in thinking she could even hope to match him. She saw that Dorian and Vivienne looked a little uneasy around all the power, and knew she probably looked that way, too. Only Solas remained calm and unaffected. _Almost as if, oh, I don’t know, he was used to being around so much power. Seriously, how did no one notice this? Every other mage is hella uncomfortable, but the old wolf seems to revel in it._

Helena let out a mighty yell, and with a single, fluid motion, raised her Anchor-bearing arm in the air. Ropes of green light shot out from her palm, and twisted themselves around the Breach. The corners of the Breach began to fall in on itself, the power of the Anchor mending the tear easily. The glow of light grew brighter, and brighter, until it because so bright they all had to shut their eyes against it. Even then, Samarra could see the light through her closed eyelids. With a loud crack, and a large, resounding boom, the Breach was closed, the resulting shockwave throwing everyone backwards. Thanks to the barrier the mages had thoughtfully cast before they began, no one was hurt.

Samarra rose to her feet as soon as she was able, and rushed towards Helena, reaching her just as Solas did. While the elven mage soothed the angry, flickering mark, Samarra quickly examined the Herald. She was conscious, but dazed, and her arm was covered in nasty burns. Blood dripped down from her nose, but otherwise, remarkably, she was fine. Samarra healed the burns and stopped the bleeding, and handed Helena a rejuvenating tonic. It would give the Herald some energy, and would be sorely needed, especially after everything. All around her, Samarra could hear the others clambering to their feet, grunting and moaning, murmuring amidst themselves. She and Solas helped the brunette to her feet.

Cassandra walked towards them, followed by Leliana and Cullen. “You did it,” she exclaimed, relieved. “The Breach is closed!” the Seeker boomed out, and immediately cries and roars of victory rang out in the air. The mages cheered, tired, but thrilled. Samarra caught the Grand Enchanter’s eye, and the two women shared a silent, jubilant moment.

“Let’s get back to Haven,” Helena murmured, waving at the cheering masses. “I could really use a nap.”

“You got it,” Samarra promised. “Bull!” she called out, catching the qunari’s attention.

“Yeah, little red?” he called out, walking towards them. Samarra rolled her eyes yet again at the stupid nickname the qunari had come up with. “Get the Herald back to Haven, will you? I don’t want her walking down, she’s been through enough.”

“You got it,” he winked at her, and lifted a protesting Helena off her feet. “Sorry, Herald, healer’s orders,” he grinned down at her, then began the walk back to Haven. Samarra chuckled as she saw the Commander walk beside Iron Bull, clearly not trusting the qunari with Helena.

She stared up at the sky, a pang in her chest. She had no chance of getting back home now. This was it. She’d fully committed herself to Thedas, for good or bad. She thought she would feel something, sorrow, grief, despair… but she was numb. She felt nothing. In a way, some part of her had long since realized that she was never going to get back to Earth… she sighed softly.

“It is done,” a voice behind her said. 

“Yes,” she agreed, not bothering to look at Solas. “A relief. Now we can turn our attention to whoever - or whatever - caused it in the first place.” She exhaled. “We best be getting back.” With a start, she noticed that the area was mostly empty. She swung her staff - it had seemed fitting to use it for the occasion - and latched it onto her back. As she walked to rejoin the others, she was aware of his presence behind her, even if she couldn’t hear his footsteps.

“Wait,” he commanded, and she stopped, startled by his tone. Before she could berate him, he had caught up to her, and now he loomed over her, his face carefully neutral. “You have been avoiding our lessons in the Fade,” he said calmly. 

“Yeah, well, it’s a rule of mine not to hang out with people who think it’s okay to assault me,” she glowered at him.

He sighed, though his eyes didn’t seem apologetic at all. There was a hidden depth to them, as though he’d discovered something new about her, and it made her wary. “ _Ir abelas_ ,” he said calmly. “It was my understanding that you found it pleasurable. I would not wish to assault you.”

“Solas, you fucking bit me. You drew blood!” she spat at him.

“Again, I apologize. I had assumed… It does not matter. Did you really consider it an assault?” he asked, seriously, and she looked away.

“So maybe it wasn’t really an assault,” she mumbled, “but it was quite aggressive,” she grumbled. She didn’t think he needed to know she’d enjoyed it..

But of course, _of course_ the swine knew.

“I believe you enjoyed the aggression, _da’assan_ ,” he smirked. “From where I stood, there seemed to be little hesitation, and a good amount of pleasure.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, _duh_ **you** would find it pleasurable. But, like I said. If I had found it even remotely appealing, I wouldn’t have stopped. I hate to burst your ego, Solas, but it wasn’t as good as you think it was.”

His eyes flashed then, hot and hard. “We shall see about that,” he murmured softly. His hands reached out, landing on her hips. He then gripped her waist tightly, holding her in place. His eyes pinned her in place, and she swallowed, half-wary, half in anticipation. His touch… did things to her, made her want to see just what the wolf offered.

And that… that was dangerous. Right?

“Stop it,” Samarra demanded, and broke away from him. “What is this, some sort of challenge? Get over yourself, Solas.” She whirled around and marched away from him.

“Samarra.” The way her name rolled off his tongue stopped her short. “I can smell you, _eolaselan’mah_ , and I know you lie. You are drawn towards me...” Again, that rich, dark chuckle. “And I know it.” His voice turned predatory. “You can play your games, _da’assan_ , but do not fool yourself as to what the outcome will be.”

She found her voice after several moments. “That’s cute, that you think this is a game. You go ahead and console yourself with that, mmkay?” She strode away from him, ignoring the amused, wicked laughter that echoed behind her. “In time, Samarra,” she heard him say. “In time.”

_What the fuck is up with that wily wolf?_

* * *

They gathered in the tavern that evening, and the alcohol and laughter flowed in equal measure. The Herald was thanked, and praised, and cheered over and over again, her face red from a combination of ale and embarrassment.

“To the Herald!” Bull roared. “For showing the Breach who’s boss.”

“Hear, hear!!” the villagers cheered.

Samarra refrained from drinking. She was the only one who hadn’t. Despite her warnings to the Inquisition members to keep a steady head, they hadn’t heeded her advice. Giving up, she slipped out, her nerves all jangly. She walked over to the watchtower, where a lone guard stood, keeping a careful eye on the horizon. “See anything?” she asked casually.

“No, seeress,” the man replied.

“Must be quite boring, staying up there all night,” she continued in an effort to make conversation.

He smiled sheepishly. “It isn’t the most exciting task,” he admitted. “Commander Cullen insists that we remain alert at all times. But we’ve closed the Breach, so most of us don’t understand why.”

She shrugged. “I’m sure he has his reasons,” she said evenly.

Bidding him a good evening, she left, walking over to the trebuchets and inspecting them. For what, she had no idea, since she wasn’t sure how the mechanism operated, but to her untrained eye they seemed to be completely functional and ready to go.

“You seem to be worried,” Solas said quietly, stepping out of the shadows.

She groaned inwardly. The last thing she wanted was to deal with him. “Yes,” she said. 

“This attack you foresaw - it is far worse than what the advisors expect, then?”

She shrugged helplessly. “We’ve prepared as best as we can. The rest… is beyond our control.” She twisted her fingers together, unaware that she was doing so, but Solas caught sight of it, and his eyes narrowed. 

“What are you not telling them?” he demanded in a low voice, taking a step towards her.

She gave a start, and stared up at him. His grey-blue eyes resembled sapphires, and glowed in the light of the torches that lit up Haven’s paths. “Nothing,” she said, forcing herself to calm down.

“You are lying,” he accused. “There is something you keep hidden, something that you have not told a soul but eats at you. Let me help,” he said persuasively.

She shook her head. “ _Banal nadas_ ,” she said. “There are too many ways things can go wrong. That is my worry.”

“The revelry and general lack of sobriety will undoubtedly not be helping matters,” he deduced.

She sighed. “There is that. I cannot tell them, or else things will change - for the worse. But at the same time…” she huffed. “I hate this. Sometimes, I really freaking hate this foresight.”

“I know we have not always seen eye-to-eye,” he began cautiously, “but I would like to offer you some comfort. May I?”

She nodded, glumly. She needed some contact, some reassurance. And for all his faults and his strange behavior, he was probably the only one who understood her circumstances the best.

He gently pulled her into his arms, and she rested her cheek against his chest. His hands rubbed up and down her back soothingly. There was no stirrings of desire at this touch, just a warm comfort, and Samarra exhaled softly on a sigh. He even smelled comforting, of warm cedarwood and musk, and she thought she detected a hint of spice. He let go of her after several long moments, but for her it was altogether too short. She forced herself to step away from him, and gave him a wry smile. “Now why can’t you always be this nice?”

He chuckled. “I believe I behave appropriately for every situation,” he said, a teasing glint in his eye. “It is perhaps you who requires a new perspective.”

She frowned. “What does that have anything to do with your... rather strange behavior of late?”

“Is it so strange to believe that I cannot possibly be attracted towards you?” he said smoothly. “You are an attractive woman. Extremely so, judging by the attention you get - and ignore - on a daily basis.”

“Most of _them_ aren’t as aggressive as _you_ were, Solas. You bit me, for crying out loud!” she reminded him again.

“Ah,” he had the decency to look chagrined. “I did apologize for that. But… _Ir abelas_. I… forgot myself. I find myself lacking in… a kind of restraint, shall we say? when it concerns you, _da’assan_. You are… quite… alluring.”

She flushed at his words. A small part of her was squealing in excitement that Solas - Solas, for heaven’s sake, the stony-faced, keep-calm-and-carry-on elf from the game - was attracted to her. _To her_. Not to a Lavellan inquisitor, but to _her_.

_But he only goes for female elves..._

“But,” she stammered, “but you don’t… I mean… you’re not supposed to… that is… I thought you weren’t attracted towards human women!”

His lips quirked upwards. “Not ordinarily, no. But as we have already established, you are no ordinary woman, are you?”

She flushed in anger. “So, what, the only reason you’re drawn towards me is because I’m not like the rest?”

“Are you?” he countered. “How many people, regardless of race, can claim to do even a quarter of what you can?” He began to circle her. “A healer with unparalleled powers of diagnosis. A mage who gained control of her powers almost overnight. An archer with deadly accuracy. Despite all that, you strive for more. Is there one other person you know who is all that you are, elf or human?”

“Just because you haven’t met one yet, doesn’t mean you never will. All you’ve done is make me feel like… like some exotic forbidden fruit or something. Solas,” She placed a hand on his arm. “It’s probably just a phase. It’ll wear off soon enough, why try to start something you’ll eventually regret?”

_Why am I telling him things he usually tells the Inquisitor? Why am I trying to dissuade him? Umm, what's wrong with me?_

_It's for your own good, you dumbass. Keep him at a distance so he won't uncover your secrets, remember?_

_Ugh. I guess you're right._

Hi eyes heated up, turning a sharp, molten silver. “Do not presume to correct me as to the validity of my emotions,” he said sharply. “Perhaps it is you who needs to gain a semblance of awareness. You are attracted to me, but for whatever reason you do not wish to act upon it. And yet you have the audacity to tell me that I am not supposed to be attracted to you, because you are human? Perhaps it is _you_ who does not wish to be attracted to an elf, a _knife ear_ as your kind call us.”

“Your race has nothing to do with it!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration. “And I would _never_ call you a knife ear. It’s just… we’re just… it will be better, for both of us, if we do not get into… complications. I do not know what the future holds. For all you know, Solas, either or both of us could die!”

“Answer me this,” he demanded harshly. “ _Are_ you averse to my attentions?”

She huffed. “I don’t have to answer that.”

To her surprise, he grinned. “I do not give up so easily, Samarra,” he all but purred. “I am _exceedingly_ fond of a good hunt. The fact that it is you I intend to chase makes it all the sweeter.”

She sighed. “You’re crazy. Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.”

He gave her that feral smile of his, the one that drew heat to the core of her. “I should say the same, _da’assan_.”

She shook her head and walked away, completely and utterly confused at the turn of events.

_How is any of this possible. He’s not supposed to be attracted to me. And even if he was - SO WEIRD - shouldn’t it happen until after we get to Skyhold? I mean, how long have we known each other for? Six, seven months? It doesn’t make sense. And it’s so dangerous! It’s bad enough that I’m already kind of… AUGH NO I’M NOT GOING THERE. NO. I’M NOT. THIS IS SOLAS WE’RE TALKING ABOUT. Fen’harel. The guy who’s planning to essentially end this world. And guess where I am now? THIS WORLD._

_You can’t keep running from him forever._

_I’m sure as hell going to try! I thought you were supposed to be on my side!_

_I’m just saying..._

_No, you’re not saying it, You’re not. We are going to keep our cool around that wolf. I’m going to pretend like that conversation never happened. He’s.. he’s not attracted to me. He just wants to get into my head. That’s it. That’s all there is to it, nothing more. All I am is some puzzle he intends to solve. Too bad. No, I’m going to STAY CALM and… and... and..._

_And sleep with him?_

_Yes! I mean no! NO! DEFINITELY NOT, NOPE, NOT HAPPENING._

_Bahahahahaha oh sweetie. You’re precious._

_Fuck off, will you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> _Ir abelas_ \- I'm sorry
> 
> _da'assan_ \- little arrow [term of endearment]
> 
> _eolaselan’mah_ \- seeress
> 
> _Banal nadas_ \- Nothing is inevitable
> 
> * * *
> 
> That's some strong denial there...
> 
> Are you playing a game, Egg? :O


	46. Venerunt, Viderunt, Et Non Vincunt - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fall of Haven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency - weekly [currently battling writer's block!]
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

Samarra had quietly packed her rucksack with the things she knew she did not want to leave behind. Her journals, her medical notes, and a few of her books occupied most of the space in her back. She slipped her phone in as well, carefully wrapped in a tunic. She’d hinted to the others about keeping their prized possession in a place where they could grab and go if necessary. That had brought a whole heap of questions down on her head, but she refused to answer them.

Helena had recovered from the ordeal of finally closing the Breach. Samarra had fussed over her like a mother hen, so much so the brunette had snapped at her several times. But Samarra was nervous and worried. She needed Helena to be at her peak, ready to deal with the madness that she knew would come soon. Two days had passed since they closed the Breach, and they still had not been attacked. Even though Cullen and Leliana were on full alert at the moment, Samarra knew that if the red templars did not make their move soon, then the people in the village would let down their guard.

As the afternoon sun gave way to the pleasant glow of the evening, the villagers gathered in the square to celebrate. Samarra didn’t understand why; they’d already had two informal parties (informal only because Josephine was not involved in the planning), and now a third? It seemed excessive, especially when Samarra knew it was just an excuse for the men - and women - to get drunk.

She send a quiet word to Leliana, who arranged to have the ale watered down. Her stomach felt like heavy lead, and her nerves were on edge. She knew it would be tonight that they would attack. She could feel it in her bones. 

There was still traces of sunlight lingering in the sky when the alarm was sounded. Samarra immediately donned her armor, pulling the wolf coat over it. The black coat would provide her with an additional layer of stealth, she surmised. Grabbing her bow and quiver, she ran towards the gates, knowing that everyone would gather there. Sure enough, she could see Varric ahead of her, Bianca in hand, and Iron Bull was a little way ahead, a grim look on his face.

Runners moved swiftly through the village, shouting out warnings. “Forces approaching! To arms!” Soldiers, who had been indulging in drink only moments ago, ran towards the barracks and the armory. Villagers were scurrying about in a panic. To Samarra’s relief, her healers had taken charge, and were already directing the villagers towards the Chantry. The Inner Circle met up by the gates, a grim look on all of their faces.

“It is as you predicted, seeress,” Cullen said harshly. “One watchguard reporting. It’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountains. There's no banner, however, not even that of the templars.”

"It doesn't matter," Helena grimly stated. "They're here to attack us, with or without a banner."

Cassandra gasped in horror as she saw the sheer number of torches that lit up the mountains. “We cannot take on all of them! We do not have enough men!”

“It would have been worse had we not been forewarned,” Leliana said stonily. “We must start evacuating immediately. Unless the Oracle has another plan…?”

“Start the evacuation,” she said hurriedly. “Remain in the Chantry and the tunnels for now. We cannot afford to show them where they exit. Cullen, get your men on the trebuchets. We’ll most likely come under attack anyway, but we can take out the bulk of their forces.”

“Avalanches,” Cullen immediately understood.

“Exactly. The brunt of the attack will be from the gates, but there will be a few who will attack from the rear, near the Chantry. We must keep that area secure. Leliana, send as many scouts as you can spare to round up the villagers. We cannot afford to wait another moment.”

Cullen and Leliana nodded.

“Oh,” Samarra said mirthlessly. “There’s going to be a dragon.”

“A _dragon_!?”

“Maker help us!”

“Bloody ‘ell!”

“Well, shit.”

Leliana looked at her. “We cannot remain in Haven, can we,” she said, realization dawning on her.

Samarra nodded unhappily. “We must save as many as we can.”

“Well,” Helena said at last, exhaling heavily. “Let’s get moving!”

They split up into two teams. Helena took with her Iron Bull, Blackwall, Sera, Varric, and the two male mages to fire the trebuchets leaving her with Leliana, Cassandra and Vivienne to defend the Chantry. For once, the First Enchanter said nothing. She wore a determined look on her face, and moved with an sort of military precision.

But first, Samarra knew there would be a new addition to the Inquisition. The only one who would know all the truths about her.

Despite the rigidly coiled bundle of fear sitting in her stomach, Samarra was still excited. Cole was one of her favorite characters, even if she could not claim to fully understand him. She needed to meet him before he inadvertently gave away her secrets.

_Five… four… three… two…_

**Bang!** The gates thundered, a flash of light appearing from under them.

Then that familiar, beloved voice spoke up, frantic and scared. “I can’t come in unless you open!”

She rushed towards the gates, ignoring everyone’s protests. “Cole is here to help us!” she shouted over the din by way of explanation. With the help of the soldiers, she opened the gate. Even though she had been expecting the large, menacing hulk of a man, she was still taken aback - and terrified - by just how massive, and evil-looking he was.

The sound of flesh ripping. _One blade. Two_ , Samarra counted mentally. _And he drops dead_. The brute sank to his knees with a groan, and died in seconds, blood gushing out in torrents from the deep gashes on his back.

Samarra ran towards him, followed closely by Helena, Cullen, and the rest of the Inner Circle. “I’m Cole,” the young lad spoke up, his voice quavering slightly. I came to warn you. To help…” he cocked his head to the side, his pale, nearly-translucent watery blue eyes honed in on Samarra’s. “You know,” he said curiously. “You helped them.”

“Yes,” Samarra said. Inwardly, she was panicking. _Cole, focus on me. Please focus. I know you can see what’s in my head but..._

“It’s there, bits and pieces, parts of a whole. Fragments and shards. Secrets, lies. Silence. To protect, always to protect,” Cole interrupted her thinking. 

_Please, don’t tell anyone anything. You must not. You cannot. Please. It's important. To keep everyone safe._

He shook his head in response to her thoughts. “Agitated, worried, dread, falling in the fear. You are safe. You help them. I want to help, too. I won’t say,” he promised.

She could literally feel Solas’ gaze burning a hole through her armor, but she paid no heed to him.

The fist of dread that clenched her heart relaxed. 

“What is this?” Cullen exclaimed. “What’s going on?”

Cole blinked. “The red templars went to the Elder One. You know him,” he turned swiftly to Helena, “and he knows you. You took his mages.” He paused. “He’s very angry you took his mages,” he said forbiddingly. “He comes for the Herald, and the Oracle.” He swung his head back to Samarra. “He wants you very much.” The young lad flitted away a short distance, and pointed to a hill in the distance. “There,” he said ominously.

“I know him!” Cullen burst out in surprise as Samson entered into view. “But this Elder One?”

A haze of thick, sooty black smoke appeared next to Samson. When the wind stirred, so did the vapor, and they could all see the Elder One.

_How the fuck does someone look like that and still be alive?_ Samarra wondered. The game had shown him as a decaying corpse studded with red lyrium. Bioware hadn’t been wrong, but this… thing that she saw was deformed, mangled, mutilated and grotesque. He looked like a dissection gone horribly, horribly wrong. Thin strips of skin barely held the musculature of his chest in place. From his sternum jutted out a sallet, the rest of the armor having been lost somewhere. He had no shoulder that she could tell; large pauldrons, almost comical in their size, comprised his shoulders. Long, bony arms ended in fingers so sharp they resembled talons. The skin of his face was stretched thin, in a futile effort to cover the massive shards of lyrium that jutted out of his mandible, zygomatic and temporal bones.

She could see his brain. Even from this distance, she could see _his fucking brain_ , could even make out the gyri and sulci that made up his cerebrum. They were unnaturally large and swollen and throbbed angrily, pulsating in the cavity of his skull as though it disliked how it was being treated.

His nose - or what passed for his nose - was broad and flat. His eyes were sunken, with dark, dark circles delineating his orbital bone. Scars across his lips gave him a perpetual scowl.

Fear chilled her to the bone. This wasn’t ‘just some villain.’ This was a creature so vile, so abhorrent, so narcissistic that he would raze an entire village to the ground just because one person who lived in it had offended him.

She saw him take a step forward, moving his gaze in all directions as though he was searching for something, and she had another horrible realization - he was searching for Helena and her.

“If we are to withstand this monster and buy time for the villagers to escape, we must control the battle,” Cullen commanded. He turned towards the soldiers, and a select contingent of mages. “Get out there and and hit that force. Use everything you have!” he ordered. “Inquisition!” he bellowed. “With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!”

A short, simple, effective motivational speech. The soldiers roared in reply, and immediately scattered out, heading towards the trebuchets. 

In a short order, several missiles were flung into the air, hitting the mountains through which the red templar army made their way to them. Some failed to trigger an avalanche, but others caused the mountains to rumble angrily, and snow began to slide furiously down the slopes. They watched, elated, as some portion of the torches were put out, buried under the weight of the snow.

“We need to go around to the back!” Samarra exclaimed. Before she left, she looked at the Inner Circle members she was leaving behind, a fierce expression on her face. “Don’t be unnecessarily heroic. **The instant** you hear the dragon, **fall back to the Chantry**. As soon as you hear it. Don’t wait to see what it does, or where it goes, **just run**.” She hesitated for a brief moment. “Be careful out there.” She couldn’t bring herself to say anything other than that, couldn’t bring herself to get sappy. “Let’s take those motherfuckers down!” she roared, and the others joined in. 

Her group took the long route back to the Chantry, inspecting the walls and the barricades. 

“They won’t hold for long,” Leliana warned.

“We’ll just have to make them do,” Samarra ground out. They regrouped with quartermaster Threnn and some of her men, as well as several of Leliana’s scouts. Krem and the Chargers worked with Josephine in getting the villagers to safety, urging them to take only what was necessary.

Soon, the village was empty except for those who wielded weapons. Cassandra whispered a prayer under her breath. _“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the Champions of the Just.”_

Samarra by no means considered herself Andrastrian - or religious, really - but the prayer moved her. The Canticle of Benedictions was soothing, and it filled her heart with a strength. Knowing that it would help the Seeker and the spymaster, she opted for a stanza from the Canticle of Trials. “ _Maker, my enemies are abundant_ ,” she began, and both women gave a jolt, turning to look at her in complete surprise. She gave them a smile and nodded, silently urging them to join in. “ _Many are those who rise up against me_ ,” she continued, and was joined by they who had once served the Divine. “ _But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, should they set themselves against me_.”

Cole, who had decided to join her, whispered from behind her back. “They liked it. Their minds are calmer now. Faith burns brighter, sword and shield in hand, a flame that devours the darkness.” They could hear the roars and the cries of battle, and knew that the templars had reached the gates. Steeling themselves, they waited in the darkness of the night, the only light the two moons that were high up in the sky.

They did not have long to wait. Red figures, glowing in the shadows, could be seen climbing over the walls. “Red templar shadows,” Samarra breathed in horror. “They are assassins! Vivienne, cast barriers where you can. We must take them out quickly!”

Samarra kissed the back of her fist for luck, then brought down lightning on the assassins. They roared in fury, but where a regular templar would have fallen and stayed on the ground, they rose up immediately, slipping into stealth. Samarra cursed. “They’ve gone into stealth! Barriers up!” She cast barriers over as many people as she could, and waited for the shadows to make themselves known again. But she didn’t have to wait - even though the assassins were shrouded by stealth, she could make them out where they were. Whether it was her training as a rogue, or another effect of her mark she did not know, but she let out a relieved breath, and stunned them again with lighting, the force of the spell forcing them out of stealth. Immediately, the soldiers charged at them, supported by Leliana’s archers. 

“Be careful not to touch the red crystals on them!” she shouted out in warning. “It is red lyrium and will corrupt you.” She and Vivienne burnt the corpses, not wanting to take a chance. Samarra found herself working effectively with the First Enchanter; the two had found a steady rhythm. Samarra even found herself admiring Vivienne’s precision and ruthlessness; the knight enchanter was able to deal a massive amount of damage against her foes.

The doors of the Chantry swung open, and they were joined by Fiona and several other mages. “We’re here to help,” the Grand Enchanter said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. Cassandra nodded tersely. “We can use all the help we can, Grand Enchanter. Thank you.” The new mages took up positions next to the archers, and prepared themselves. Samarra gave them a brief rundown of what had happened thus far. Before she could finish, however, the wooden barricade shattered, and a massive Behemoth came charging towards them.

Too terrified to think coherently, Samarra acted out of sheer instinct and froze the hulking beast.

“Maker save me, what is that?” Cassandra exclaimed.

“A behemoth, I think. Monsters made entirely of red lyrium. If we are not careful, it can crush us!” Samarra shouted. “Mages!” she ordered. “You have to keep that thing frozen in place for the soldiers to take it down without being harmed!” The mages nodded, and focused their efforts on the beast. Cassandra charged it, and Samarra immediately covered the Seeker in a barrier. Leliana and herself shot arrow after arrow at the beast, but the majority of the work was done by the warriors. The mages’ magic held the behemoth in a constant winter’s grasp, and soon Vivienne was igniting the corpse. The soldiers were panting, the effort of battling the hulking monster having taken a toll on them. Samarra knew that more templars could enter through the hole in the wall, and used her magic to repair it as best as she could, drawing up whatever rocks she could find lying around to cover the gap.

It helped, but only for a short time. Red templar knights broke through the barrier with help of horrors, who looked like radioactively-mutated Hunchbacks of Notre Dame. Samarra cried out a warning. “Those horrors will fire red lyrium! Be careful!”

The mages who had accompanied the Grand Enchanter were absolute champs, and made sure every single man and woman who was fighting was shielded by a barrier. The Grand Enchanter herself was a formidable woman. Years of fighting as a Grey Warden had turned the woman into a skilled and formidable warrior. It was Fiona who discovered that the horrors had a weakness against lightning-based spells, and it was Fiona who ruthlessly utilized the knowledge to bring down the terrible beasts.

When the red templar corpses had been reduced to ashes, Samarra once again sealed the breach in the wall, her hands slightly trembling with the effort. Between firing her arrows, and casting her spells, she was terribly drained. It wasn’t just her, though. A glance around showed everyone was exhausted. The soldiers rummaged through their packs, drawing out restoration potions and downing them in a single swig. The mages brought out their thin, slender vials of lyrium, the sound of it humming softly.

Samarra wondered where Cole had gone. The dual-wielding assassin was the reason they had been victorious thus far without suffering casualties. He was stealthy in a way no regular rogue could be, sliding in and out of the darkness and the shadows virtually unseen. Samarra would aim an arrow at a red templar knight, only for the man to fall flat, dead, seconds later. She hadn’t even seen Cole as the young lad approached the red templar, nor did she notice him as he slipped away from the dead man towards a new target.

“They lie under snow,” Samarra jumped into the air as Cole materialized behind her. “He is angry, fury burning through his being. He thought you couldn’t see him. Now he knows. He’s calling her. She’s going to come soon.”

“Warn the others,” Samarra urged, and he vanished.

“The dragon will be here shortly,” Samarra addressed the others. “Helena and the rest have managed to take out most of the Elder One’s army with the trebuchets.”

A loud, angry screech filled the sky, and Samarra braced herself as she saw more red templars approaching. “More templars!” she called out, quickly gathering her fallen arrows and refilling her quiver. The archers, mages and warriors took up positions once again, determination flooding their faces. The clash of metal on metal echoed in the air, the metallic scent of blood flooded her nose. “Samarra! You’re hit!” Leliana exclaimed, and she looked down to see an arrow protruding from her thigh. She hadn’t even noticed. _Too much adrenaline. Use it to your advantage_. She broke the haft of the arrow, leaving the head behind. It would do more harm than good to pluck it out completely at the moment. Everyone around her was faltering visibly, tired from having held off multiple attacks. Where there were cries of motivated fury were now cries of pain. She could only watch as two of the mages fell, having been struck by arrows. She could do no more than give them a cursory glance to see if they were breathing. A small measure of relief fell over her when she saw they were writhing around in pain. _Pain is good. Pain means they’re alive. I can work with pain._

She could hear the roar of the dragon as it flew towards them, could hear the crackle of wood burning as it set alight the huts in the village.. Fiona cast a barrier before the flamebreath could touch them, but even so Samarra could feel the heat of it. The dragon’s breath did not discriminate, however, and several attacking red templars were burnt to a crisp by the creature’s attack.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted Helena and the rest rushing towards them. “Quickly!” Cassandra ordered. “Into the Chantry! It’s the only thing that can hold up against… that beast!”

A few of the soldiers helped to carry the fallen mages, while others supported their wounded comrades. Samarra slowly limped her way to the building. The adrenaline had worn off, and she could now feel the sharp arrow cutting into her flesh and soft tissues. A few of the scouts gathered up as many arrows as they could as quickly as they could, before rushing into the sturdy, old building. Someone lifted her off her feet, carrying her into the safety of the stone building. She looked up to see Blackwall, his face set into a grim mask. “Thanks,” she said, and he grunted in reply.

Once they were in the large hall, he set her on her feet. She looked around, taking note of who had reached, and who was yet to come. Movement at the doorway caught her attention, and she found Cole ushering Solas, Helena and Varric. When her eyes landed on the young brunette, Samarra made her way over. “I’m glad to see you’re unhurt,” Samarra exclaimed. Helena looked banged up and a little worse for wear.

“We were doing okay till that damned dragon arrived,” the Herald said stonily. “So. What next?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Your Heart Shall Burn is one of my favorite quests in the game. The musical score for it is amazing; it just makes everything feel so urgent and hopeless yet there's this feeling of determination. And then, of course, it leads to Skyhold, which is the most epic cutscene in the game.
> 
> NB - for the curious, the chapter title is latin for 'They came, they saw, and did not win.' Inspired by Julius Caesar's famous quote, 'veni, vidi, vici' (I came, I saw, I conquered).
> 
> * * *
> 
> I'm still stuck! Ugh. I've tried writing the Halamshiral chapters for more than a week now but nothing seems to be _right_. It's so frustrating.


	47. Venerunt, Viderunt, Et Non Vincunt - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fall of Haven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> [NB - if you haven't read the last chapter (part 1) I highly recommend you do for continuity reasons!]

Samarra knew there would be no cutscene where Chancellor Roderick fell into Cole’s arms, having been wounded. He had been evacuated, and was already safely in the Chantry. Instead, Cole was already tending to the wounded, telling the mages how they were hurting, giving water and potions to those who needed them.

Cullen approached the group after talking to several of his soldiers. “Herald,” he said grimly. “Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you may have earned us.”

“Time for what, Commander?” Leliana asked him. “Has it not been clear to you from the start?” Her shrewd eyes caught Samarra’s. “Haven does not survive this Elder One’s attack,” the spymaster said again, and Samarra hung her head in sorrow.

“No, it does not,” she said quietly. “It was never possible.”

“Which was why you were so focused on finding an escape route out, and getting supplies ready,” Cullen breathed out, understanding dawning on him. “Even the trebuchets were part of your plan?”

Samarra sighed. “There was never _my_ plan, Commander. You would have used the them anyway. I only sped up the process so that fewer lives were lost.”

“What do we do now?” he asked. “With that creature bearing down on us? We cannot afford to let them find our exit strategy!”

“I’ve seen an archdemon,” Cole mumbled as he moved towards them. “It was in the Fade, but it looked like that.”

“I don’t care about what it looks like! That bloody beast has cut a path for that army. They’ll come bearing down at us! We won’t have enough time to get everyone to safety!”

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald and the Oracle.” Cole murmured.

Helena looked thoughtful. Finally, she spoke up. “If I distract him, would it buy you time to get everyone out, Cullen?” she finally asked.

“Possibly. But you are our only hope of closing the rifts that yet remain! I cannot ask you to do this.”

The Herald patted his shoulder. “It’s not your decision to make, Commander,” she said firmly. “Samarra, what do you think?”

She gulped. What was going to come next was going to make a _lot_ of people very pissed off at her. Cullen would be absolutely furious… but then again, it was kind of his idea, really… “I believe the Commander had an idea,” she said, watching Cullen’s face turn red.

“Is that so?” Helena replied. “Well, Cullen, what is it?”

He positively _glowered_ at Samarra. “The only thing that stopped them was the avalanche,” he began hesitantly. “We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide…”

“We’re going to be overrun,” Helena growled. “To hit the enemy, we’d have to bury Haven!”

“Exactly,” Cullen quietly said, shamefaced. “If we don’t, they could still follow us. If they find us, they will slaughter us all!”

Helena was quiet for several moments. They could hear the screech of the dragon as it hovered in the skies over them. Finally, she spoke up. “I’ll do it,” she said. “Cullen, get everyone out. If that thing is here for me, I’ll make him fight for it.” She turned towards Samarra. “You need to get out of here. Go with Cullen and the others.”

“No,” Samarra shook her head. “There’s already a break in the wall near the Chantry. If someone doesn’t defend it, the templars will discover the tunnel. The Elder One wants me, too. If you’re going to keep him distracted, I’ll distract the others.”

Cullen gripped her arm tightly. “We cannot afford to lose the two of you!” he snarled.

“If all goes well, you won’t,” she argued. “This is the only way, and you know it. Don’t you think I’ve broken my head over this? I’ve tried, and tried, and tried to find a way around it all, and I’m telling you, there is no other option. Get everyone to safety. If the fates are kind, we will join you.”

“And when the mountain falls? What about you?” he asked Helena, although his face betrayed the fact that he knew what the answer would be.

Helena turned away, a look of steely determination washing over her features. Cullen spoke softly, a plea in his voice. “Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way…” he trailed off. Helena still said nothing. 

The Commander called over a group of men. “They’ll load the trebuchet,” he said. “Keep the Elder One’s attention until we are above the tree line.”

Helena nodded. The Herald then walked over to her. “You should go with Cullen,” she said firmly. “I have seen what the Elder One does to you if he gets you. I would not wish it on my worst enemy, let alone someone I consider a sister. There is no point in the both of us falling. Go with them. You can continue to guide them.”

“Stop talking as though you’re going to die,” Samarra hissed. “I will not allow that. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can do this, you can. I won’t let this Elder One lay hands on me. I will defend the Chantry for as long as I can, then I’ll regroup with the others. Does that satisfy you?”

Helena gave her a searching look. “Promise me, then,” she said. “Swear that you will not stay longer than you have to.”

“I swear,” Samarra promised.

Helena nodded, satisfied, then pulled Samarra into a hug. “I pray I see you soon, sister,” she said quietly. 

Samarra was at a loss as to what to say. “Don’t ever lose hope. You can do this. You **will** see me again, I won’t have it any other way, do you understand?” she forcefully said. 

Helena let out a soft chuckle. “So bossy. Perhaps you should take over Cullen’s job,” she weakly joked. “Till later, then.” the brunette said, pressing her lips to Samarra’s forehead, and then slid out of the Chantry doors with her companions.

Samarra quashed the fear that threatened to overwhelm her, and focused on the arrow on her thigh. Fiona came to help her with it, for which she was grateful. “This will hurt, I’m afraid,” the Grand Enchanter said apologetically, and yanked the broken arrow out of her flesh. Samarra cried out as the metal tip shredded her flesh on its way out. The wound immediately started gushing blood, and the hissed curse that Fiona gave alerted her that the weapon had done some significant damage. She felt lightheaded and woozy, and realized it had struck an artery. _Fuck._

Someone pressed a healing potion into her hands, and she swallowed it as quickly as she could. That went a long way towards making her feel better. As her body regenerated blood to replace what had been lost, she found that the Grand Enchanter had already healed the wound without leaving any trace of it.

“Thank you,” Samarra said gratefully. “Grand Enchanter, I must ask a favor of you. When everyone has entered the tunnel, I need you to collapse the entrance. Don’t wait for me, just do it as quickly as you can.”

Fiona frowned. “But how will you escape?” she asked.

“I will, trust me. You must make sure no one can find that tunnel. It is of utmost importance.”

“But what of the men you will have with you?”

“We’ll find another way out, Grand Enchanter. Please, do as I say.”

“I do not like it, but I will do so,” she reluctantly agreed.

Cole materialized next to her. “I will come with you,” he said. “I can help.”

_I need help. Who can I ask? Not Cassandra, she’ll be too busy helping the refugees. Or Leliana. That leaves me with… Blackwall. Yes, I think Blackwall will help._

A group of scouts walked up to her. “We’re here to help, seeress,” they vowed.

She nodded mutely. _I’ll keep you all safe. I will. I have to._

She spoke with Blackwall, and the Warden readily agreed to accompany her. As she made her way to the Chantry doors, she was accosted by Solas. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” he hissed angrily.

“To do what needs to be done,” she stated simply.

“You cannot mean to go out there when that… thing and his creature are after you!” he said, aghast.

“I’m not going to let them get to me. But I do need to buy time for everyone to evacuate. There are close to a thousand people who need to get out of here, Solas. Or have you forgotten?”

He glared at her, but she was unmoved. “I will accompany you,” he said decisively.

“What?” she exclaimed. “No! Solas, the people need your help. You are one of the most skilled healers around. They need you.”

“You are correct in stating that there is a pressing need for time,” he countered. “If I can help in that manner, I will do so. We must not tarry longer,” he chided her when she thought to argue.

“Fine,” she muttered.

They were met with opposition the moment they left the Chantry. Red templar knights charged at them, blades swinging wildly. Samarra barely ducked and rolled away from an attack. She quickly shot an arrow through her attacker’s throat. He made a sickening gurgling sound as he hit the ground.

Blackwall truly _was_ a beast of a tank, taking multiple blows without batting an eye. In mere seconds his blade and shield were stained red, and he roared his challenge into the air. From their location, Samarra could not see the trebuchet Helena was redirecting, and she knew she needed another way to figure out a good time to pull back. She already had an escape plan in mind - one of the dungeon cells had a loose stone on the floor, under which was a tunnel. Some enterprising criminal had, god knows how long ago, dug an escape tunnel. The tunnel joined with the summer pilgrimage path at the end of it. Even if Helena launched the trebuchet, as long as they made it to the dungeon, they could escape safely.

She could hear the music that the game had supplied during the quest in her head, a sense of urgency and hope and faith washing over her. “It sounds nice,” Cole murmured to her in the darkness, “strong, sure. It gives you conviction, stops the fear.” And then he was gone, off to bring down another hapless intruder.

The scout archers did not back down, even when they were surrounded by red templars. Samarra raised a barrier over them, before she and Cole rushed to their help. Her fingers were red, swollen and aching from having plucked the bowstring repeatedly, the calluses on her fingertips offering no protection against the pain. But she knew she couldn’t afford to let it distract her, so she willed it to heal as best as she could and continued her assault.

Solas was as calm and levelheaded as always, but he was deadly. Spells she did not recognize felled the templars one after the other. His eyes were fierce as he shielded all of them, conjuring up a barrier over those who were brave enough to stand and fight when all seemed hopeless.

They were being steadily overrun, and Samarra knew they couldn’t keep going for much longer. When the ground beneath her shook ever so slightly, she knew that the Grand Enchanter had kept her word and collapsed the tunnel. _Time to get out of here_ , she thought.

But even the best-laid plans rarely work out.

A chilling roar rang out in the air. Samarra froze, mid-battle, and turned around slowly to find… the largest behemoth approaching their group. It was flanked by several red templar knights. When the leader of the group caught sight of her, he let out a cry. “There she is! Seize her!”

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, what’s going on, fucking hell, is that Knight Captain Denam, is this the boss fight, **how the fuck am I going to do this** , I can’t let them take me, I can’t let them kill the others… I can’t let them into the Chantry, fucking hell, what the fuck am I going to do._

“Incoming!” Blackwall thundered.

Samarra’s eyes met Solas’. He looked even more grim and stern-faced than usual, having heard the order. “Cast a static lighting cage,” he calmly ordered. She obeyed him without question, drawing lightning to the tips of her fingers, then flinging out her hand to cast the high voltage as a net over the group. The templars sizzled and cracked, and the scent of burnt flesh rendered the air, but they still stood, still approached them.

“There’s too many of them!” one of the scouts cried out.

“Focus on the others!” Samarra ordered. “We’ll take care of the behemoth!”

She turned to find Solas giving her a strange look. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

When it came to magic? Without question. Other things… not so much.

But it looked like what they needed right now was a miracle.

And it was only Solas who could possibly deliver it to them.

“Implicitly,” she said, surprised to find she meant it. She had unshakeable faith in his magical abilities.

He took her hand, and… there was a warm flow of _something_ that trailed down her arm, a kind of calling, a twisting of sorts. A small flash of light, the scent of ozone, and there was a tiny rift that hovered over her would-be attackers, Ropes of green light snaked out of the Fade and wound themselves around the templars and the behemoth, holding them in place. Even though they struggled, they were unable to move.

Solas let go of her hand, and quietly cast his spell. In moments flaming meteors flew out of the sky, raining fire down on their enemies. The templars and the behemoth were powerless against the force of it, and they were crushed under the weight of the stones, their bodies burned by the flames that covered the rock. The noise was thunderous, and Samarra plugged her ears with her fingers, but the damage his spell wrought was massive and instantaneous. They were all dead in a matter of moments.

Samarra saw the red light of the flare in the sky, the Commander’s signal to the Herald. “We have to get out of here. Quick, move out!” Blackwall and Solas each carried an injured scout, and Samarra supported a third. They hobbled their way into the Chantry, and down into the dungeons. She got Blackwall to remove the stone, earning an amused look from Solas as he realized her plan. They could hear the roar of the avalanche as it crushed and buried Haven’s Chantry - fortunately, they were underground already, and weren’t affected, although the scouts kept a wary eye on the walls. One after the other, they slipped into the tunnel. The two mages summoned veilfire to light their path. 

The air in the tunnel smelled stale and musty, and rats scurried about their feet, disturbed and agitated by their presence. They walked in silence, each lost in their thoughts Samarra wondered if Helena had made it out, crossing her fingers that she had.

Cole popped up by her side. “They’re dead, they died for me. Maker protect their souls. Maker, it hurts. Am I dying? Please, no. Must see them again…” His voice was eerie as he spouted out the Herald’s thoughts, and Samarra shivered. “Keep him talking. He’s insane. The signal! I must do it. Must fire. Andraste preserve me, don’t let them follow. Must run... So much pain. I’m dying. I must be. How can I survive this pain?... silence in the darkness, but the embers glow.”

_She’s alive. She made it out. She made it out._ Samarra did the only thing she could think of. She wrapped her arms around Cole, buried her head into the crook of his neck, and began to cry, ignoring his alarmed spluttering.

“She’s alive,” she hiccuped, when she finally pulled away from the young lad. “I feared… I was so scared… but she’s alive!” Samarra smiled then, a wide, beaming one. “It’ll work out. Everything will be okay.”

They managed to catch up to the trailing stragglers of the survivors, mostly mages who had aided the Grand Enchanter in sealing the tunnel. They were surprised to see Samarra and her companions, the advisors having given them up as dead. Samarra lingered in the back even when they caught up to the main group, knowing the ordeal Helena would face, and wanting to not only ease the Herald’s journey back to them, but also provide directions. She placed heating glyphs on the ground every five hundred feet or so. It drained and tired her, but she kept going, even when she could barely walk on her own, and Cole had to support her. He knew what she was doing, and she knew he remained with her because he approved. She also knew Solas was keeping a careful eye on her. He didn’t understand what she was doing, but he didn’t question it, for which she was grateful. She didn’t have the energy for an argument.

They trudged through the snow, every single one of the survivors chilled to the bone, tired and weary. They dared not stop, not even when the young ones complained of hunger gnawing at their insides. There was too much fear, too much uncertainty. Even now, Samarra could not be sure they would not be followed. The wind was strong, and the temperature dropped with each passing hour. Horses pulled caravans filled with supplies, the wounded, the ailing and the elderly. The spymaster’s preparations had been impeccable. She could see by the number of mounts that pulled the covered wagons, that Dennet had managed to get most of the mounts out safely. The survivors murmured amongst themselves about the blizzard that was sure to come. Finally, the Commander called a halt when they stumbled into a sheltered valley, nestled between the peaks of the mountains. He gave tired orders for the men to set up camp.

Samarra dared not think about how many had died. She knew she would ache over it later. For now, her biggest concern was Helena. 

The able bodied survivors helped to pitch tents and roll out bedding. The cooks and their assistants began kindling fires, ready to start preparing food to feed hungry mouths. Even now, Cullen was setting up patrols to keep watch. Leliana and Cassandra went around the makeshift camp, setting up torches, providing light to the people. Chantry sisters quietly prayed with the people, offering them a measure of hope and reassurance amidst the disquiet.

Cole guided Samarra into a tent, where she collapsed gratefully onto a bedroll, utterly exhausted and completely spent. Cole tilted his head, as though listening to something. “They need help,” he mumbled, and ambled out of the tent. She pulled the wolf coat around her tighter. Her face, hands, breeches and boots were covered - perhaps even soaked - in blood, but her coat was immaculate. She wondered what kind of enchantment Solas had cast on it.

_Speak of the devil_ , she thought wryly as he strode in. Taking a seat next to her, he completely ignored her protests as he wiped her down as best as he could before clinically began examining her. “Your mana is severely low,” he informed her, his voice so icily cold she shivered. “I will fetch you a vial of lyrium.”

_Ugh, no thanks. Not really in the mood to swallow some Titan blood. What do I look like, a freaking vampire?_

“I’ll be fine,” she said as casually as she could. 

His eyes narrowed. “Are you _deliberately_ trying to harm yourself?” he sneered. 

“Solas, you dolt, I’ve never taken lyrium before. Ever. I don’t know how I’ll react to it. So forgive me for not wanting to conduct that experiment when we’re in the middle of bumfuck nowhere!”

Her words seemed to calm him, and he sighed. “You are correct. It is too risky for you to try lyrium at this time. You need to rest. Get some sleep.”

She thought about arguing with him, but she really was tired. “You’re right,” she conceded, and he smirked.

“I usually am,” he teased, and she swatted his hand. 

“Rest,” he said softly, placing his hand over her forehead. It felt soothing and reassuring. A sense of peace washed over her, and she drifted off to sleep with the help of his spell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEN WILL THE DAWN COME :O
> 
> * * *
> 
> Halamshiral is a beast that will not be defeated /rants/


	48. Frozen Heralds In The Frostbacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald Of Andraste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I finally managed to finish one chapter of Halamshiral! So to celebrate, here's a bonus chapter :D

**POV Helena**

She really wasn’t feeling very charitable towards Samarra at the moment. 

She couldn’t claim to understand the whole ‘if you do something you’ll change the future for the worse’ crap the flame-haired woman spouted constantly. But Helena was having a really hard time trying to figure out a way this could have gone any worse. For her.

 _You could be dead_ , a voice in her head reminded her.

Fine, so it could have gone worse. Still, it _sucked_ that she was currently lying on an ice-cold floor, after being passed out for Maker knew only how long, in a great deal of pain, with her Anchor as the only source of light.

Said mark was glowing like a fucking beacon. That _thing_ \- the Elder One, or Corypheus, whatever the shit his name was - had _done_ something to it. He’d used some weird orb to ‘take away the mark,’ he’d claimed, but all Helena had felt was the damn thing feeling like it was being charged. It had hurt worse than anything she’d felt, and she knew pain quite well.

Samarra could have at least warned her she’d be facing off the demented magister and his damned dragon, but _noooo_. The future was a delicate fucking flower bud, and if you so much as _looked_ at it wrong it would shrivel up and die. Or that’s how the mages made it sound, anyway.

She sat up as best as she could, and used the Anchor to illuminate her surroundings. She was in a tunnel. Alive. There was a faint light at the end of the tunnel, which meant it lead somewhere. All good things. Turning to her side, she spotted a crate. It was definitely out of place. The wood it was made of was fresh, unlike the rotting wood her bottom was currently resting on. She crawled towards it gingerly, using all her strength to open it.

And she gasped.

It was filled with every potion she could possibly need, clean water, bandages, as well as a torch, flint to light it with, and several wool blankets. There was even splints, and a pair of crutches. She teared up. She knew who’d done it. Samarra really had tried to fix things in her own way. Helena was sure that if she hadn’t had that crate… things would not go so well for her.

Her fingers plucked out a restorative from the lot, and she uncorked it with her teeth and drank it down. Immediately, she felt like she had some energy. Testing her body, she hissed as her leg flared up angrily in pain, and knew the bone was broken.

Lighting the torch, she set it aside as she planned her next moves. She took a pain relief elixir to dull the pain, and a healing potion to repair the myriad of wounds she’d sustained. She had so many cuts, both shallow and deep, she had to take a second one. Gritting her teeth, she straightened out her leg. Attaching splints to either side of her thigh, she secured the broken leg with bandages. She filled her utility belt with as many of the potions as she could and wrapped the blankets around her head and shoulders. She’d lost her helmet during her confrontation with… _that thing_. Finally, she pulled the crutches out, and use them to rise to her feet.

It wasn’t as bad as she feared. She wondered how she could carry the torch _and_ use her crutches, finally solving the problem by tying the very base of the torch to the crutch so that the flame pointed directly ahead, and away from her. As she began to slowly hop away, she couldn’t but help wish that she was a mage. She’d seen how Solas and Samarra worked. They made magic look beautiful, not something to be scared of. Their eyes shone with a pleasure and a certain kind of joy each time they cast.

And they were both easily two of the best healers she knew, if not the best. Her injuries would have been child’s play to either of them.

She limped down the passageway, leaning heavily on her crutches, stopping to catch her breath every now and again. Her chest felt tight, and it hurt to breathe. Helena was afraid her injuries were more severe than she’d first thought. _I have no choice. I have to keep moving. I can’t give up now_ … Slowly, painfully, she made her way through the cold, damp cavern, till she reached an area where the narrow tunnel opened up into a wider cave of sorts.

A cave, where four despair demons were waiting for her.

She nearly wept. Would have too, if she wasn’t afraid the sound would draw their attention to her. She was barely in a condition to take on a wispy little wraith, and she had to make her way past four demons? She still remembered the one at the rift by Dennet’s farm. It had been a massive pain to kill; only the Seeker’s grappling chain had been able to pin it down in position long enough for her companions to attack it.

She looked around, making her way down each and every side tunnel she spotted. They all ended in dead ends, and Helena found herself despairing. _How appropriate._ Her mark was still flaring, still bright and vindictive of sorts. Solas had said that it was the same magic that had opened the Breach. But she used it to close rifts. Maybe she could use it to open them? Send those demons back into the Fade?

_Samarra and Solas would have had a ball discussing this._ The amusing thought lifted her spirits. _I must do something. Samarra would not have left those things for me if she did not believe I would live. I have to test this theory. It’s the only way._

Hesitantly, she made her way over to the edge of the cavern, hiding behind a corner to avoid detection. It seemed to work; the demons had not noticed her presence. _I should ask Solas if the demons can smell me. Like wild animals._ She slowly slid her hand out of cover. _Come on, rift. Open! Get those demons out of here!_ She closed her eyes and willed a rift to open, using what Solas had taught her about closing one. A loud crack echoed through the silent halls, and the demons began shrieking. Helena peeked out of her hiding place to see what was going on. 

_Maker’s breath, it worked. It worked!_ A small rift, smaller than any of the ones she’d seen thus far, hovered in the air in the center of the tavern. It seemed to pull the demons towards it. One of them caught sight of her then, and released and angry ice blast that she barely ducked. But either the demons were weak, or the rift she’d opened was strong - all that mattered was that once they’d passed through the tear in the Veil, the mark instinctively sputtered, and sealed it.

That was going to be something she needed to discuss with the mages, for sure.

She continued forward, excitement mounting as she saw the end of the tunnel, where the moonlight hit the snow-covered ground. _Almost there_. But when she saw the blizzard that raged outside, she _did_ weep, hitting the cold stone walls with her fist. Her torch blew out in the winds that swirled.

_Andraste, beloved of the Maker, grant me strength that I may face without hesitation the trials that await me. I must find them. I am needed._

She tied the blankets around her tightly, pulling one across her nose and mouth to protect against the dry, bitterly cold wind. Then she placed one step outside the relative warmth of the tunnel, gasping as the cold bit her instantly.

 _“Oh Maker, hear my cry.”_ One step. Two. Three. _“Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.”_ She was so cold. Her eyelashes had frozen over, making it hard to blink. She turned to give the cave a longing look. “Make me to rest in the warmest places.” She kept moving further and further away from the cave.

 _“Oh Creator, see me kneel”_ Andraste preserve her, she would surely perish in the snow, her bones were stiffening up, making it even harder to walk. _“For I walk only where You would bid me.”_ Was it her imagination, or was something glowing lightly in the snow up ahead? _“Stand only in places You have blessed.”_ No, it wasn’t her imagination. There was something up ahead. Hope blossomed within her. Was it meant to be a pathfinder? _“Sing the words You place in my throat.”_

When she was closer to it, she realized it was a glyph. A mage’s glyph. They must have passed this way. But why would they leave a glyph out here, in the open, where no one would… Realization dawned on her, and she barked out a laugh. _Samarra_. Of course. She rushed over to the glyph, moaning with pleasure as the warmth of the heating glyph hit her. She stood in the middle of it for several minutes, basking in the heat. When it came time for her to move on, she gritted her teeth, and faced the bitter wind once more. _“My Maker, know my heart. Take me from a life of sorrow. Lift me from a world of pain. Judge me worthy of your endless pride.”_

She spotted another glyph, and laughed into the cold, harsh wind. _Bless you, Samarra. I was a fool to doubt you_. The redhead had left her not only a trail to follow, but areas where she could rest and recover in some comfort. _“My Creator, judge me whole. Find me well within your grace Touch me with fire that I be cleansed. Tell me I have sung to your approval.”_ Her despair vanished, and she was filled with hope and faith. She could make it. She would make it. And so she trudged through the storm, taking refuge in the places the sister of her heart had marked for her. _“Oh Maker, hear my cry. Seat me by your side in death. Make me one within your glory. And let the world once more see your favor.”_

She thought she could see the faint yellow glow of torches in the distance. “Help!” she called out, but the sound was carried away by the wind. Desperate, she pushed on, ignoring the agony she felt in every part of her body. “Help!” she called out, over and over again. But no one heard her, and she began to fear no one would.

But then she heard what was surely the sweetest sounds in the world. Cullen and Cassandra, shouting agitatedly. She collapsed onto the snow, waving her hands in the air. “Here,” she wheezed, “I’m here.”

“The Herald! She is alive! Thank the Maker!” Cassandra was astounded. Cullen reached her first, his warm brown eyes filled with relief, and pulled her into his arms. “You made it. You found a way.”

She stared up at him, numb and frozen, faith blazing in her heart, and finished the prayer in barely more than a whisper. _“For You are the fire at the heart of the world, and comfort is only Yours to give.”_

And then she welcomed the darkness that had threatened to overwhelm her for so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short.
> 
> The prayer that Helena chants as she trudges along is Transfigurations 12 from the Chant of Light, if anyone's interested!


	49. Good Deeds Do Not Go Unpunished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When tempers run short, blame arises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

The sound of voices arguing were what woke her up.

“She is needed! Now!” a deep voice declared agitatedly.

“She is exhausted, and is recovering from a severe mana imbalance. She needs to rest. I can tend to the Herald.”

_The Herald? Then… then Helena made it back!!_ The news shot her out of the bedroll, and she called out, her voice raspy. “Helena. She’s found us, then?”

An angry sigh, and the tent flaps were pulled aside to allow the Commander in. He looked relieved, but agitated, rubbing the back of his neck in a familiar fashion. _Oh, Cullen. Of course you’d do that. Do you know just how cute it makes you look? Stop teasing me, dammit._ “She has,” he acknowledged. “Maker only knows how. We found crutches by her side. Maker, to think she walked all this way with a broken foot…” he sighed again, reverentially this time. “She’s passed out. I thought… we thought you should examine her.”

“I will,” she promised. “Where is she?”

“In the next tent,” he said. “We thought it best to… keep a distance between the two of you and the villagers.”

“Is something the matter, Commander?” she asked carefully, watching his mouth harden.

“There are… some misgiving. The villagers who have lost loved ones are… less than happy with you at the moment. We’ve had to station the Chargers around for… your safety. Undoubtedly there will be many questions you will have to answer later,” he said in that same hard tone, “but my concern is the Herald.”

She sighed and rose to her feet, shrugging on her black coat. It was cold, but not unbearable, and Samarra suspected that the mages had played a large part in that. She walked out to find herself at the very edge of the camp. It was like she’d been isolated, or quarantined. A short distance away was another tent. In front of her was a third, probably meant for the Chargers.

Samarra felt so, so tired. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well. She’d carried the visions of the attack for weeks. Had carried the knowledge of death even as it gnawed at her soul. She had done all she could to save as many lives as she could. But no one would understand that. No one would know just how much she had done. No one would thank her. It was a bitter pill to swallow. She pushed it all away, and shuffled towards the tent where Helena was waiting. Solas, of course, followed her closely. She wasn’t surprised to find Dorian with the Herald already.

The Tevinter mage looked up as they entered. “Ah! Good, you’re here. I assured the Commander that Solas and I were more than capable of healing the Herald, but he insisted you be present for the proceedings. Shall we begin, then?”

She made her way to Helena’s side. The Herald looked _terrible_. Even though Samarra logically knew that it couldn’t be as bad as it looked, given that the woman had managed to make it through the blizzard, her stomach still churned at the sight of the two swollen black eyes, the swollen jaw. Her eyes immediately picked out the fracture in her foot. Helena’s armor had been removed, and she was wearing a clean tunic and a fresh pair of breeches. The tent was warm, and she knew someone had cast heating glyphs around. She lifted the brunette’s tunic. There was a screech of surprise, and the sound of the tent flap opening and someone hastily exiting. Samarra shook her head. _Good lord, Cullen. This isn’t the time for delicate sensibilities._ There was significant bruising around the ribs, and Samarra gently pulsed her magic through Helena’s chest. _A crack in several ribs, but nothing broken. Pleura and lungs seem fine. Heartbeat is faster than usual, from the stress. Blood clot near the diaphragm. Another near the pelvis. Internal blood pooling near the liver - must drain that out immediately._ She placed a hand on Helena’s head. _Skull cracked near occipital lobe. Expect delayed concussion._

She looked up to find Solas and Dorian staring expectantly at her. Dorian seemed rather amused. “Well? What can you tell us about the Herald?” he asked.

“She’s cracked both her clavicles, ribs five through eight, and the tenth rib as well. There’s no chipping, so we won’t have to worry about bone fragments in the flesh or the bloodstream. Her lungs and heart are undamaged, but there are beginnings of an infection in her lungs. I’m not surprised, she walked through a freaking blizzard. There’s a blood clot near the diaphragm, another near the pelvis. A broken femur - but you knew that of course - it’s a clean break, but she’s put too much additional stress on it, and the ends have chipped. There are bone shards in the flesh here -” she circled a region on the Herald’s right thigh, “and here. There’s a blood pool near her liver that I will have to drain immediately..." She huffed. “Cullen,” she commanded, and he poked his head in through the tent flap. “Find Ellandra. Ask her what tools she has with her. Tell her I need a sharp dagger, lye solution, bandages, forceps and… that should be it.” He nodded, and she could hear him issuing orders to someone else.

“Solas, there is a crack in her skull near the occipital - near the back of her head. Can you please heal that, and her ribs?”

“Of course.”

Dorian looked impressed. “You’re quite good at this, aren’t you?”

She didn’t look at him as she replied. “Yes, I am.”

He chortled. “Modest, too!”

“Can you help?” she asked bluntly. “How good are you at healing?”

“Terribly basic, I’m afraid. I’d rather leave all this up to you chaps, if you don’t mind.”

“We’ll need fresh water, would you mind heating some snow up in a pot and bringing it in? And some soap and towels, if you could manage that too.”

“That I can do.” He rushed out in search of what she needed.

“What are you planning to do?” Solas asked curiously.

She was grim as she replied. “I need to make an incision here,” she pointed, “and here. The blood clot can be dissolved safely, but the blood pool needs to be drained. And the bone fragments need to be excised.”

_Fuck, I’m going to have to perform surgery in the middle of nowhere with almost nothing. Fuck fuck fuck._

“Should I remove the clot?” Solas asked.

“No, not yet. You can do it after I get the excess blood out… no, wait, actually, go ahead. The last thing I need is the clot creating a jam somewhere in the circulatory system.”

He placed his hand where Samarra instructed him to, and a pulse of blue light enveloped Helena’s skin. Minutes later, he drew back. “It is done.”

“Great. Where the hell are they? I need those tools!” Samarra paced back and forth as much as she was able. It felt as though an eon had passed before Dorian finally returned. He’d also had the foresight to ask someone to bring along a table, which he set up next to Helena’s cot. Ellandra joined them a little while later, her arms full of potions, bandages and other tools.

“Ellandra,” she instructed. “Dilute down the lye with water - one part lye to two parts water. Soak the blade and the forceps in it, and bring it to a boil. Dorian, I want you to remove Helena’s breeches. Prepare another solution of lye - same ratio - and swab the skin on her thigh - right from hip to knee, please - and also near her liver.”

Cullen started to protest. 

“This is not the time for that, Cullen!” she shouted. “I have to get those pieces of bone stuck in her before they nick an artery and cause a bleed even I can’t heal!” That shut him up quickly. He returned to his post outside the tent, keeping guard.

“Solas, I want you to keep a close eye on Helena. If anything changes - her pulse, her breathing, anything at all, tell me at once. Keep checking her eyes periodically - if you see a change in the pupil, tell me immediately. If you think she’s coming out of consciousness, give her a spoon of this potion - “ she handed him a dark amber vial, “it’ll knock her out a little while longer.”

“Ellie,” she turned to the Enchanter, “do we have any pain relief elixir and antimicrobial draught?

Ellandra nodded. “We do.”

“Excellent. Once we’re done, give the Herald a dose of the elixir. We can begin the antimicrobial once she wakes up. Is everyone clear on what needs to be done?”

The three mages around her nodded. 

“Good. We’ll begin at once. I want everybody to scrub their hands with hot water and soap. Up to your elbow, no excuses.” They took turns at the wash basin, scrubbing their skin till it turned red. Samarra oversaw the proceedings with a close eye - she didn’t want any of them to skimp. They didn’t have gloves, and she needed to reduce the risk of infection as much as possible. Especially since this was a surgery.

“Okay, everyone take up positions. Ready?” she asked looking around. Three heads nodded affirmatively.

She picked up the dagger from the hot water, letting out a hiss as she touched the hot grip. The blade was smaller than most daggers, but it was still too large for a scalpel. But all she needed was something sharp. She gently prodded at the skin on the right side of Helena’s abdomen, trying to locate the best place to make the incision. She located the origin of the blood pool. It had long since healed, when the Herald had taken the health potion most likely, but it was the best place to drain the excess blood from.

Everyone watched with bated breath as she brought the dagger down to skin. Ellandra gave a little squeak as the blade pierced the skin. Samarra made the cut a little wider, then began making the incision deeper. She knew when she’d hit the sweet spot - the tissues felt sluggish, and bloated - and pulled the dagger out. “Dorian! Give me that towel,” she ordered. He was confused, but obeyed. She took it from him. She lightly pressed around the cut, and he gasped as blood literally fountained out of the cut she’d made. She collected the stale, blackened blood on the towel, taking care not to let the cloth touch the cut. The mini blood geyser continued for several seconds - during which Cullen had stuck his head in, curious, then immediately pulled back making a gagging sound - before finally stopping. She pressed the edges around the wound a little more, making sure everything was out. When she was satisfied, she cleaned the wound again with lye, and placed her fingers around the edges of the incision and healed it. _Man, I love magic. No need for stitches. Woo!_

She took the cloth outside, and incinerated it, ignoring Cullen’s discomfort. Returning to her patient’s bedside, she once again washed her hands thoroughly, and re-boiled the dagger. She made incisions on Helena’s thigh, creating a ‘T’ shaped incision so she could peel back the skin a little, allowing her to dig through the flesh with the forceps. Finding the shard of bone should have been like finding a needle in a haystack - especially with no x-rays available - but her magic allowed her to locate the rough position, and soon she’d pulled out one, then the second, fragment of bone. Again she cleaned, then healed the wound.

“Solas,” she asked tiredly - she had not yet fully recovered from her mana imbalance but had already spent more than she should have - “could you please heal the Herald’s ribs and femur, please.”

He did so, moving his hand up and down her thigh, then repeated the process around her sternum. Once he was done, he nodded to Samarra. She re-examined Helena, clenching her jaw as a flood of sudden weakness swept over her. “Looks good,” she said in a low voice. “The Herald will be fine. She just needs her rest. Ellandra, would you - “ she didn’t get to finish her request as she lost consciousness and went crashing to the floor.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself on a cot, Solas sitting on a stool next to her bed. He seemed to be in the middle of grinding some herbs. “What’s that for?” she asked softly, propping herself up on one arm. He didn’t answer, didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at her. For some reason, she got the impression he was angry at her. “Are you _angry_ at me?” she asked, confused.

“Immeasurably so,” he replied in a low, frustrated voice.

“Why?”

“You are far too careless with your health. You must have been aware that healing the Herald would be a drain on your mana, and yet you insisted on doing so. I would have been only too happy to follow any instructions you may have given me. I cannot fathom your reasons for doing so. Do you believe yourself to be so dispensable, that you would flirt with taking chances that are entirely detrimental to you?”

Oh. He was only concerned for her. In the midst of hundreds of people who harbored some antagonism towards her, it felt so _nice_ to have someone who actually cared about _her_ for a change. Her eyes misted with tears, and she turned her face away from him.

“It was vital that I help Helena,” she explained quietly. “I was so caught up in trying to do it as fast as possible it never struck me that it could be so exhausting. As for whether I am dispensable or not…” she smiled wryly to herself, “I am. Only the Herald is indispensable, yes?”

“Do not underestimate your contribution to this organization. You may not be able to close the tears in the Veil, but you save the lives of innocents. The others might not know how much you have truly done, but I am aware of the subtility of your actions, and how much they have gone towards preventing unnecessary death.” he replied in a low growl.

“The others won’t see it that way,” she spoke calmly, blinking back tears. “They won’t see the lives I’ve saved. They’ll blame me for the deaths. They will ask me, well, if you can save _this_ person, why didn’t you do anything to help _that_ person? You helped _their_ child-slash-parent-slash-spouse-slash-whoever, why didn’t you help _mine_? That is what they’re thinking right now, I know. That I should have stopped the attack. That I should have done more. Even if I tell them that there was _no other way_ , that things would have been _so much worse_ had I done something different, they won’t believe me. There will still be some who villify me.”

Solas was quiet for a long time. Finally, he spoke, his voice laced with the faintest hint of sorrow. “There are those who will take the the good that you do and twist it to serve their own desires. The world will always need a villain, someone to blame, when they realize there are matters beyond their control. People seek to control their fates, to believe they are masters of their own life. When life shows them that any control they might have is an illusion, they turn to blame.”

“I know,” she said quietly. 

“Then you are wiser than most.”

She turned towards him then, a smile on her face. “I can hardly claim to wisdom, Solas. I fear I am not knowledgeable enough.”

“You confuse knowledge with wisdom. Knowledge is the accumulation of facts and information. Wisdom is the synthesis of knowledge into insights that deepen one’s understanding of relationships and the meaning of life. Knowledge is a tool, and wisdom the craft where it is used.”

“Basic philosophy,” she grinned. “But my point remains. I do not have enough knowledge to wield it in search of wisdom.”

“And I say I believe you are wiser than you consider yourself to be.”

She rolled her eyes. “You think I’m wise?”

“No. It was a statement. The fact is not up for debate.”

She shook her head, amused, then sighed as muffled voices, clearly in the middle of a heated argument, reached her ears. “How bad is it out there?”

“There are many who wish you harm,” he said, giving her a sympathetic look. “They believe you were the cause of the death of their loved ones. The Commander and the Chargers have been successful in keeping them at bay thus far, but I fear that without a statement from the Herald, the unrest will only increase.”

“Great,” she muttered. “You try to do something good, and what happens? The people who try to save end up wanting to kill you.”

“That is unfortunately something that happens far too often,” he said.

_Great, so I’m basically these people’s version of the Dread Wolf. Hey, maybe Solas and I should start a club called ‘We Did It For Your Sakes, You Dolts!’ Founders and members: The Dread Wolf and The Displaced Woman. I’m sure we’ll be the hottest thing in Thedas. Everyone will want to join us._

“You really think Helena talking to them would help?” she asked.

“They view her as their savior. If she were to tell them of the things you have done on their behalf, they will listen. More than if you or I were to talk to them, in any case.”

“So I guess that means I shouldn’t venture out till Helena wakes up,” she joked half-heartedly.

He, however, was serious. “Not without someone accompanying you, no. Either Dorian or I will bring you your meals.”

“Worn out and weary, heart heavy. The burden is dense and eats at the soul, but she carries it unwaveringly. Compassion sees a reflection, but the reflection is one of many. I like you,” a soft, near-melodious voice said. “You help the hurt, soothe the scars. You protect. I want to do that, too.”

Even though she knew Cole’s tendency to appear and vanish at will, it still startled her each time he suddenly apparated. Her heart was beating fast, but there was a smile on her face. “Cole,” she greeted. “I like you too.”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “You can see me,” he stated. “But I don’t understand. Why am I a cinnamon bun?”

She laughed. “Consider it a term of affection.”

He perked up at her answer. “You have a lot of cinnamon buns.”

“And every one of them is special,” she agreed.

“I think I like them, too. Honor shines amidst the darkness, unafraid of the blackness that threatens to consume, a glimmer of hope springing at her conviction. He wants to believe, but is afraid to let himself. Valor finds a family where they least expect it. He thinks of him as father, but worries about what he is. He knows he serves as cover. He waits for betrayal, but prays it never comes.”

“Indeed,” she murmured.

He tilted his head. “He calls for help, but no one can hear,” he murmured. “I can help.” With that, he vanished.

Solas had been listening in to their conversation closely. When Cole left, he continued staring at her with a thoughtful look in his face. Discomfited, she asked him, “What is it?”

“You fascinate me. You are aware of what Cole is, yes?”

“A spirit who has taken on a form? Yeah, I know. Why am I fascinating for that?” she asked, confused.

“Any other mage would have considered him an abomination. A demon. Most would have tried to attack him at the very least, yet you converse with him as though he were kin.”

“I’m not sure what I should be discriminating against him for? From all I have seen, Cole only wants to help. The world could use more Compassion.”

“You are never what I expect,” he said after a long pause.

“Is that good or bad?” she teased.

“I cannot tell. Insomuch as I can deduce, you have only done good. Yet I am aware you have secrets, Samarra.” He leaned so close she could feel his breath against her face. The scent of mint, mingled with the essence of him, filled the air. “I intend to find out what they are.” He smirked.

She gulped. “You mean, try, don’t you? Because if you think I’m going to tell you, you are very mistaken.”

His smirk grew wider. “Do not underestimate my skills of persuasion, seeress,” he all but purred against her ear. She trembled as he caught the soft flesh of the lobe between his teeth and tugged. She swallowed the whimper that threatened to escape, but she knew her face had flushed.

She cleared her throat. “Again. Try is the key word here.”

He chuckled. The sound was positively sinful, and she felt something stir in the core of her. “I have always enjoyed a good challenge, _da’assan_.”

Someone on the outside called his name, and he rose, giving her a positively feral look before he exited the tent. She was definitely shaken up. There was no question she was being hunted.

The only question was - was she going to just let herself become prey?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like the Dread Wolf's caught _someone's_ scent. 
> 
> [the Dalish disapprove]
> 
> * * *
> 
> Soooo, if things go according to plan, there's only one more chapter till I wrap up Halamshiral. I'm kind of torn. It's been a beast to write, especially when you're sitting around and thinking 'okay how the hell did the Inquisitor manage to stash away her armor in the palace? and where the hell did she have the time to wear it? and how the hell did people not notice she was gone?"
> 
> Yeah, sooooo many inconsistencies, so much headache trying to fit them together.
> 
> On a different note, anyone have any tips on how to get my hands to stop aching? My wrists hurt, and it's impacting my typing ability :(


	50. From Grief Springs Forth Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Has the dawn finally come?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

**POV Helena**

Heated voices reached her ears. “What would you have me tell them? This isn’t what we asked them to do! Perhaps if we’d been given more information…”

“We cannot simply ignore this! We must find a way!” _That’s Cassandra. Why is she so angry?_ Helena rolled over to her side, groaning at how stiff she felt. But there was no pain, so that was a major relief.

“And who put you in charge?” Cullen was both mocking and angry, and she’d never heard him sound like that. He’d always been so polite to her… “We need a consensus, or we have nothing!”

“Please, we must use reason! Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we have nothing!” Josephine pleaded.

“And who’s fault is that?” More angry Cullen. “If the Oracle had informed us that Haven would fall, we could have made alternate arrangements!”

“Against that _thing_ and its army? Against a dragon? Say what you will, Commander, but we would have been forced to evacuate regardless of where we were stationed.” Leliana seemed to be the voice of reason.

“What do we tell the people? What do we tell the survivors? They’re all angry, and with good cause. We have no place to go, we don’t know where we are, and supplies are getting low. The seeress should have warned us. She is a liability. She must have known this Elder One would have come for the Herald, and still she said nothing!” _Andraste’s dimpled buttcheek, Cullen is really angry._ She moved to sit up. The news that the survivors - and some of the Inquisition members - were angry at Samarra made her uneasy. Helena knew the redhead appeared mysterious - possibly even callous - to the others, but she also understood that the woman truly was trying to help in every way she could.

Mother Giselle entered the tent, alarmed to see her sitting up. She tried to get her to rest, but Helena was more interested in resolving tensions. She knew, from personal experience, the longer anger was allowed to fester the more damage it would do. The fact that the revered Mother was more interested in trying to ferret out her religious inclinations annoyed her; this was neither the place not the time, and she bluntly told the older woman as such. 

A loud clamor outside had her hurrying out of her tent. She could see a crowd bearing down on a figure, a woman who was flanked by two men. With mounting horror she realized that the woman was Samarra, and the two men beside her were Solas and Dorian. They were trying to shield her against the crowd, who were loudly shouting obscenities at her. 

She began running towards the crowd, ignoring the burn in her legs from muscles made to move too quickly after a period of disuse. “Stop!” she shouted, but her voice could not rise over the din of the crowd. “Stop!” she called again, as she made her way closer.

Someone from the crowd flung a rock at Samarra. Helena watched, horrified, but to her relief one of the mages raised a barrier before it could reach the redhead. Finally, she was close enough to the crowd that she could make individual faces out clearly. “STOP!” she commanded. Her voice, and the stern order, caused the villagers closest to her to turn around. When they saw her, they immediately fell into a silence. Soon, one by one, the rioting mob calmed down and fell silent.

Helena was furious. _Where had Cullen been? He should have been protecting Samarra!_ She jumped onto a nearby crate, and started shouting. “HOW DARE YOU!” she yelled. “HOW DARE YOU RAISE YOUR VOICES AND YOUR HANDS AGAINST THE ONE WOMAN WHO WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE FACT THAT YOU STILL LIVE?” More people started coming closer, joining the group, she found herself addressing all the survivors. “DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DID? SHE MADE SURE THAT WE EVACUATED AS MANY PEOPLE AS WE COULD.”

A voice from the crowd shouted out angrily. “She could have saved more!” Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.

“HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?” she demanded. “DO YOU HAVE ANY SUGGESTIONS ON HOW WE COULD HAVE AVOIDED BEING INVADED BY AN ARMY OF CORRUPTED TEMPLARS LEAD BY A FUCKING ANCIENT DARKSPAWN MAGISTER? OR HOW WE COULD HAVE DEFEATED A FUCKING DRAGON? BECAUSE IF YOU DO, I’M ALL EARS.”

Silence. 

“HAVEN WOULD HAVE FALLEN. IF WE HAD MOVED SOMEPLACE ELSE, WE WOULD STILL HAVE BEEN ATTACKED. IF YOU NEED SOMEONE TO BLAME, BLAME ME, BECAUSE I WAS THE REASON THAT CREATURE ATTACKED HAVEN! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? WOULD YOU RATHER SHE HAVE DONE NOTHING? WOULD YOU RATHER **ALL** OF YOU HAD LOST YOUR LIVES? SHE MADE SURE WE WERE PREPARED IN THE BEST WAY POSSIBLE. SHE MADE SURE WE HAD A WAY OUT OF HAVEN. SHE MADE SURE THE ARMY COULD NOT FOLLOW. SHE EVEN SAVED MY LIFE. DO YOU KNOW THAT? SHE KNEW WHAT TRIALS I WOULD FACE, AND SHE MADE SURE SHE HELPED ME IN EVERY WAY SHE COULD. Helena jumped off the box, and walked over to where Samarra was standing, and pulled her in a hug. 

“You are all fools,” she said, her voice still raised. “You would have harmed the one person who would do all she could to help you. If she chooses not to aid us after all your terrible behaviour, I would not blame her. None of you deserve her help,” she continued, glaring daggers at Cullen who looked ashamed. “From the first day she has worked to help all of you. Who did you go to if your children fell sick? Who did you trust with your lives? And now, you conveniently forget all that and choose instead to attack her for something she could not have prevented? Shame on you. Shame on all of you. We were both willing to sacrifice our lives so that the lot of you could have yours. Now I cannot help but wonder why.”

“Herald of Andraste, we humbly beg your pardon. We meant no offense. We are all heavy with the grief of loss,” an elderly man spoke up.

“Why do you ask for my pardon? You have done me no ill. Apologize to the Oracle. It is her forgiveness you should seek,” she retorted.

The man hesitated, then knelt on one knee. “Oracle of Andraste,” he proclaimed loudly. “I ask for your forgiveness.” One by one, the offenders got on one knee, begging Samarra’s pardon. Helena was happy to see them apologize, but clearly Samarra wasn’t thrilled by the attention. 

“Please, get up,” the redhead implored, and waited till the men and women were on their feet once more. “You should not kneel before anyone. Know this - I serve the Herald, and I serve the Inquisition. My loyalties will always be to them. What good I can do, I will do. You must trust me on this. I wish harm on none of you, and I never will. I am a healer. To do harm is not in my nature. Please, though things may look bleak, stay calm. Have faith. We will prevail.”

The mood of the crowd immediately lifted after the seeress’ speech, for it had been honest and heartfelt. A voice rang out softly in the silence of the valley. 

_Shadows fall_  
_And hope has fled;_  
_Steel your heart,_  
_The dawn will come._

Helena’s eyes met Samarra’s, and she stepped towards the other women, reaching out and taking Samarra's hand in her own. Holding hands, she began to sing, surprised when the redhead hesitantly joined in.

_The night is long_  
_And the path is dark;_  
_Look to the sky,_  
_For one day soon, the dawn will come._

Soon, every man, woman and child in the valley was singing, voices ringing with faith and hope.

_The shepherd’s lost_  
_And his home is far;_  
_Keep to the stars,_  
_The dawn will come._

_The night is long_  
_And the path is dark;_  
_Look to the sky,_  
_For one day soon, the dawn will come._

Samarra let go of her hand, and stepped back into the shadows. She looked at the redhead, confused, but Samarra only gave her an encouraging smile. When she turned back towards the villagers, she found, to her horror, that they were all kneeling in front of her, as though she were their savior. They were singing for her, pledging themselves to her.

_Bare your blade_  
_And raise it high;_  
_Stand your ground,_  
_The dawn will come._

_The night is long_  
_And the path is dark;_  
_Look to the sky,_  
_For one day soon, the dawn will come._

Mother Giselle walked towards her, a calm smile on her face. “You might be uncertain of your faith,” she said quietly. “But they are sure of theirs, and their faith lies in you.”

_Maferath’s flaming ballsack._

* * *

**POV Samarra**

Samarra was still reeling from how quickly the crowd’s emotions had changed. One minute she was faced with a mob baying for her blood, the next moment they were begging for her forgiveness, then the moment after that they were declaring themselves to the Herald.

Thankfully, because of Helena’s intervention, she still had her head. Solas had been right. The crowd had not been appeased by her entreaties, nor would they listen to Solas or Dorian. The two male mages had had several insults hurled their way, and Samarra had registered every face who’d spoken the cruel words. The Inquisition would have no place for racists, and she fully intended that the people who felt that way be kicked out.

Once they’d reached Skyhold, of course.

She also made a mental note to confront Cullen. She was well aware that the Commander had done nothing to stop the crowd. Clearly, he blamed her as well, and she was absolutely furious with him.

“Do you still believe that these people are deserving of your help?” Solas asked her, sitting on the cot opposite hers.

“At the moment, no,” she confessed.

“I would not have thought you felt that way, given the very impressive speech you delivered,” he said, his forehead furrowed.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I’m going to be mad, Solas, I’m not unemotional. I’m angry that they thought I was doing them harm, angry that they wanted to hurt me, angry that they spoke so rudely to you and Dorian. I’m angry for all that, and I’ll deal with that in my own way, my own time. But why should I punish the majority for the stupidity of a few? If I stop caring about these people, it makes me no better than the Elder One, doesn’t it?”

“You can hardly compare yourself to that creature,” he pointed out. “You are nothing like him.”

“Maybe, but that’s because I choose not to, right? The differences between him and me - and really, each and every one of us - comes down to choice. I can choose to remain resentful, and withhold my help. Or I can choose to hope that by continuing to help people, I inspire them to do the same. I know which one I want.”

A runner stuck his head into the tent before Solas could reply. “Your presence is requested at a meeting, Oracle,” the blond haired lad, only just out of his teens, said respectfully. “They’re waiting for you in the command center.”

“I’ll be along shortly,” she told him.

When the runner had exited, she turned towards Solas. “You are in a better position to help these people than I am, Solas. The question is: will you?” She gave him an enigmatic look as she left the warmth of the canvas shelter.

She stood around the rickety table that served as a makeshift war table, flanked by Leliana and Josephine. There was a vindictive pleasure in the knowledge that Cullen couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her. And the fact that Helena was being downright icy towards him. 

The Herald was telling everyone the events that had taken place after Haven had been evacuated, when she was forced to face the magister alone. She’d just finished telling them about how she’d fallen through the rotting wood covering a hidden entrance to the tunnels that lead out of Haven, and the extent of her injuries.

“I would have _died_ had Samarra not had the forethought to provide me with supplies,” she said, pointedly looking at Cullen. “Furthermore, when I made my way through the blizzard, the only thing that saved me from freezing to death were the glyphs she’d left behind in the snow. Not only did they serve to warm me, they acted as markers. I was only able to find you because of them.”

She then informed them about Corypheus, who he was, what he’d claimed to have done, and what he intended to do. “He had a strange orb,” the brunette continued, turning towards Samarra, “that he used to try and remove the mark on my hand, or so he wanted. He said I had interfered with the mark, that it was permanent. But that orb did something to my mark, it… made it more powerful?” She told them about her encounter with the despair demons.

Samarra waited till Helena had finished talking. “I don’t know much about the orb,” she lied. “I have seen this Corypheus wield it, but I don’t know what it is. Perhaps Solas might know more. He is far more knowledgeable than I am.” She added thoughtfully, almost as an afterthought, “if this orb connected with your mark, perhaps it was what gave you the mark in the first place? If he still has the orb, surely he still has the power of it? Why would he want your mark?”

“Good questions,” Helena said with a groan. “I have no idea.”

“The more pressing matter we face is that of finding a new home,” Josephine, ever pragmatic, spoke up. “Is there some way you can help us, Samarra?”

Samarra smiled mysteriously. “I cannot. But there is someone who can. And I am inclined to believe you will not have to worry for long.”

She had been right. It was rather obvious, really. Solas needed his orb. In order to regain his orb, he needed the Inquisition. In order for there to be an Inquisition, they needed a place they could settle in.

He’d thoughtfully included her in his conversation with Helena. Well, Helena had thought the elven mage was being thoughtful, but Samarra knew he only included her to try and find out if she knew anything of what he was going to say, and if so, how much.

She watched impassively as he informed the Herald, in sorrowful tones, that the orb was elven in nature, a twinge of sympathy in her veins as he pleaded with the brunette to keep the fact as secret as possible, fearing for what his kind would face if the humans found out about the orb. Helena had been sympathetic, promising him that only a select few would know. She then asked Samarra for her opinion on who they could trust with the information behind the orb.

“For the moment? Leliana, Josephine, Cullen and Cassandra. You can also trust Dorian. Blackwall and Varric can be trusted, too. Just ask Varric to leave the word ‘elven’ in the phrase ‘ancient elven artifact’ when he inevitably writes his story,” she remarked wryly, earning a chuckle from the other two. “I’d keep it from Iron Bull, Vivienne and Sera. We don’t need the Qunari finding out about this. Sera already has an antagonism towards elves, and she doesn’t understand magic, so it’ll just scare her unnecessarily. As for Vivienne, she won’t hesitate to use that little tidbit if she thinks it will gain her more power.”

“I notice you did not make mention of yourself. Does that mean you cannot be trusted?” Solas teased her. Helena laughed.

She widened her eyes dramatically. “Oh no! I have been caught! You have foiled my plans, Solas!” 

Helena laughed harder at her shenanigans. “Knock it off, you two,” she giggled. “Let’s get back to business. What is this orb meant to do, Solas?”

“They were considered foci, said to channel power from the ancient elven gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of the pantheon. All that remains are references in ruins, and faint visions of memories in the Fade, echoes of a dead empire.”

_How can I do anything but feel sorry for him when he sounds so sad and wistful. He’s seen so much loss. Is it so wrong for him to want to correct it?_

_It isn’t wrong to want to rectify a mistake, but when something’s on fire, you don’t think ‘Hey! I know what’ll help! More fire!’ He wants to help his People. A noble sentiment, yes. But what gives him the right to decide that no other life is worthy? What gives him the right to say, ‘I have to do this, it’ll kill you all, live well while you can?’ How dare he? And to the very people who helped to correct his mistake in the first place!_

_Okay, calm down, I get it._

“The orb that Corypheus has - do you know which member of the pantheon it belonged to?” Samarra asked, keeping her face and voice casual.

_I know it’s yours, Dread Wolf. And I know you instructed your agents to lead him to it. The only question is… where did Corypheus find it? Because I think if I discover the location of your orb, I will have stumbled across your base of operation. In time, though. In time._

He turned his sharp gaze on her. “I cannot say. I have not seen enough of the subject in my travels to consider myself an expert in the field. Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived.”

_Smooth. It’s not an outright lie, but neither is it the truth. You’re a sneaky one, Fen’harel._

“Wait, how do you know that he used it to open the Breach?” Helena asked, confused.

“If you recall, I told you, when we first met, that I theorized that the same magic that had opened the Breach had placed the mark on your hand. It was why you are able to close rifts. Considering what you have told us - that Corypheus wanted your mark, and that he used the orb to try and take it away from you - it is only reasonable to assume that it was the orb that created the Breach.”

_No, it’s because you know it can, because you wanted to do the same thing. Also because the damn thing is yours._

“Oh. That makes sense,” Helena said.

“What I want to know is, how and where did he find the orb in the first place? It doesn’t sound like they’re just scattered about Thedas,” Samarra asked.

Solas huffed impatiently. “However Corypheus came to it, the orb _is_ elven, and with it, he threatens the heart of human faith.” he said sternly.

“Only human faith?” she said quietly. “Solas, if what you say is true, the orb carries immense power. Helena has confirmed it. He can - and probably will - use it to destroy all of Thedas. We - or rather, Helena - has already gained some insight into what he plans to do. It is not only human faith that is at risk. Faith is the last thing we should be concerned about! He will cause the deaths of thousands without remorse or mercy. Do you think it will matter to him if the blood he spills is human, elven or dwarven?”

“I did not refer to the Chantry when I spoke of the heart of human faith,” he said, amused. “I alluded to the Herald.”

“Me?” Helena squeaked.

“Indeed. The people here look to you as their saviour. You faced an ancient magister and a dragon, and lived. You survived a blizzard. You were willing to sacrifice your life to protect them. Whether you like it or not, you are their champion.”

“But Samarra helped them, too!” the brunette protested.

“Perhaps, but she swore herself into your service. That sealed their view of you as their liberator. That you were able to sway a seeress into the aid of the Inquisition will be given a great deal of importance.”

“You did that on purpose,” Helena looked accusingly at her.

“It needed to be done,” she replied apologetically. “They trust me more now, knowing I am in your service. And they will have more faith in you now, knowing that I am there to help you.”

“Faith in you is shaping this moment,” Solas agreed. “But it needs room to grow. By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed the both of you.” His eyes were fixed on hers, gleaming in the darkness, even as he addressed Helena. “Scout to the north. Be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build. Where it can _grow_.” he said earnestly. 

_Oh my god. Oh my god, that was epic. His voice. I just heard him speak the dialogue in that epic cutscene. Gaaaaaahhhh. I can’t wait to see Skyhold. I can’t wait to see Tarasyl’an tel’as. This is it. This is really it. I’m going to get to see the Dread Wolf’s fortress. I’m going to see where he created the Veil. Oh my god. I can’t even. Okay, calm down Samarra, calm down. Breathe, that’s right, breathe, can’t give anything away._

“You mean to tell me,” she heard Helena ask him skeptically, “that there’s a fortress in the middle of these mountains? Where exactly is it?”

“I cannot tell you the exact location, Herald. I can only tell you where to look,” he said calmly.

“A lot of help that is,” the brunette complained.

“Helena. You must trust Solas,” she said quietly. He shot her a startled look. She looked at him as though to say _What? It’s true_. That caused his lips to quirk upwards in the smallest of smiles.

The Herald sighed. “Fine. I’ll let the others know.” She left her alone with the elf, who looked as though he had a million questions for her. _Which he probably does_ , she thought, giggling inwardly. 

“Want to get some dinner?” she asked him.

He nodded, and fell into step with her. “You knew I had a place in mind,” he stated.

She wrinkled her forehead. “I knew that you were the only one who could help,” she deflected. “I did not - still don’t, really - know where it was, or what it is. What kind of magic is this, apostate, that you can conjure up a fortress in the middle of nowhere,” she teased him, very aware of the truth in the statement.

The corners of his eyes lifted up as he smiled. “Magic that is not so far out of your grasp,” he teased in kind. “One day you will know it as well as I know you.” Though she chuckled, she had the uncomfortable feeling that _perhaps he wasn’t really joking._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always swoon a little [okay, a lot] during the Skyhold cut scene. I always will! The first time I played through I was blown away. Then after Trespasser, every time I played through I always found Solas as this indulgent parent giving their kid a shiny new toy. Lol.
> 
> Thank you for all your really helpful suggestions about what to do about my wrist pain! I've been trying to take it easy, which means I haven't been writing/typing as much as I wish I could be.


	51. We Get Knocked Down, We Get Up Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding their way to a new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
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> [ Here's if you want to listen to the Journey to Skyhold music while reading this chapter!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8aza5MZ8HBc)  
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> Now featuring artwork by the amazing designfailure56 on Tumblr!
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Where the game’s cutscene had made the trek to Skyhold seem glorious and wonderful and miraculous, reality was much harsher. There were no brontos as pack animals - really, where _had_ the devs come up with that idea? Especially since there was no indication of brontos anywhere near Haven at all! Instead, there were horses and druffalos pulling caravans and wagons. Even with Dennet having saved most of the mounts, there was still a shortage of animals, and so several of the wagons were being pulled by able-bodied men. Samarra grinned at the sight of Bull pulling along a wagon with ease.

The journey was slow, excruciatingly so. Even though there were none who were severely injured, there were still many survivors who were elderly, and several young ones. But no one complained, at least not for too long. There was hope, and faith. Hope that they would find a place to settle, and faith that the Herald would lead them to it. The Chant of Light was sung as they made their journey, and Samarra soon got very tired of listening to it. Luckily - or unluckily, depending on how one looked at it - she had been assigned with Solas, tasked with finding their way to this unknown, as-yet unseen fortress that was supposedly waiting for them.

It wasn’t a hardship to partner with the elven apostate. Quite the opposite, really. He was great company, and she enjoyed the conversations and discussions she had with him. More often than not Dorian would join them as well, and she found it a fascinating learning experience to see how a technique could change, if it were not taught properly, or if it was understood incorrectly. A lot of the Tevinter techniques were born from the ancient elven ones, but the Tevinter was stiff, and rigid, and firm in his employment and wielding of magic whereas the elf was graceful and elegant in handling it. Solas used magic as though it really were just another part of him. Dorian used it somewhat mechanically, as though he was aware it was a limb; he wielded magic as though it were a robotic arm whereas Solas used it as though it _was_ just his arm.

Both mages were accomplished, and oftentimes she found herself avidly listening in to discussions they had. Even though she’d tried to read up on as many books on magic as she could, she didn’t have the benefit of the education Dorian had received, nor the kind of experience Solas had. Her understanding of magic was more intuitive, and sometimes she wasn’t able to understand their terminology. They were pleased to demonstrate what they talked about to her, and more than happy to teach her, although the two men squabbled often over whose technique was the superior one.

Dorian was fast becoming one of her close friends. He wasn’t perfect by any means, but he was willing to listen with an open mind, and if any of his arguments was proven wrong, he would accept it - not _very_ graciously, but he would acknowledge that he was wrong. He’d even apologized to her for how he’d treated her at the start, and she’d forgiven him. When Solas wasn’t around, they would discuss a variety of other subjects, including but not limited to literature. Samarra wasn’t surprised to learn that Varric had written a book whose plot was very similar to that of Romeo and Juliet, and it was immensely popular in Tevinter. The book was used as a cautionary tale among the young adults, and to get children to marry partners that their parents chose for them. She'd shaken her head, thoroughly amused at the difference in cultural attitudes.

They discussed music, and Samarra was surprised to hear that Tevinter had a wide range of music, from classical to something that sounded like jazz, and even rock. The nobles enjoyed the classical and the jazz music, while rock was popular among the lower classes. Dorian had informed her, with a wink, children of nobles would sneak out of their mansions at night to wander into the musical venues of the working classes, and rebelliously listen to the rock music. _Some things never change_ , she thought amusedly.

Cole would periodically check in on her, to make sure she was okay, which she found very touching. The lad had been very worried and scared on her behalf when the villagers had turned on her, and this was his way of protecting her. He’d even let her hug him. He had felt rather bony - unsurprising, really, given his tale - but there was a comfort in his embrace that made her feel very warm. Of course, he’d been thrilled over the fact that he had helped her, and offered her a hug every day. She very much enjoyed them, and he enjoyed knowing she liked them. Although she knew that Cole was happy to know he helped, she very much felt like she was getting the better deal. Hugs from Cole? They were just as soothing and gentle and peaceful as she'd imagined them to be.

Sera had very pointedly kept her distance from her. Then again, Samarra knew that it would take a lot of time for the blond elf to trust her, but she was willing to wait. People as dogmatic and stubborn as Sera needed gentle handling, but as long as the young woman didn’t do anything outright hostile to her, Samarra was willing to work on it.

Vivienne kept a cool distance from her, although Samarra had no doubt that Madame de Fer was getting reports on what she was doing. She’d identified the former First Enchanter’s spies - they hadn't been so difficult to identify, really - and had quietly pointed them out to Leliana. While the spymaster had been aware of the matter for sometime, she was still very unhappy with having it confirmed - at least Bull had outright told her about his espionage activities - but Vivienne’s underhanded behavior posed a threat, and if there was one thing Leliana was very good at dealing with, it was threats. Samarra felt somewhat guilty about being excited to see what the Nightingale had planned for them.

When she wasn’t spending time with Dorian and Solas, she was hanging out with the Chargers. They were a loud, boisterous, _happy_ group, tight-knit, and always looking out for each other. They had been wary of her at first, but she soon settled in well among them, joining in their jokes and good-natured teasing. She introduced her healers to the Chargers, admonishing the boisterous mercenary group to be nice, and soon Giles, Everna, and Ashalle were spending all their time with Stitches, Grim, Dalish and the rest of the crew. Samarra noted with a sly smile how Ashalle seemed to be hanging around Krem very often, and the young man seemed smitten with the elf, but he seemed hesitant about what to do next. She decided not to interfere, and to allow things to grow organically between them. They both had secrets and a past that they needed to work through together, and any interference on her part would do no good.

Ellandra seemed to be spending most of her time with Ser Barris. Samarra’s plan had gone off without a hitch. She’d pretended to be delayed for her meeting with Barris at the tavern that fateful evening so long ago, and Everna and Ashalle had taken care of the rest... and soon the mage and the former templar were making moon eyes at each other. It was very cute how they interacted with each other, shy but solicitous. Barris would ask Ellandra periodically if she was fine, whether she needed to rest, if she’d eaten, and so on. And Ellandra would soothe Barris’ aching muscles - the man having been pressed into helping to pull a wagon full of supplies - with a healing balm each evening.

Blackwall spent his time helping out where he could. No job was too menial for him - he was just as willing to dig the toilet trenches as he was to play with the children. The big bear of a man was surprisingly popular with the little ones - he was gentle with them, and they trusted him. Every action of his only cemented his redemption in Samarra’s mind. The man was truly atoning in the every way he could. She tried to spend time with him, but he seemed uncomfortable with her presence. Nevertheless, he went from freezing up every time she asked him something, to tentatively ask her questions about her past. There was some thawing, and she was happy about that. Blackwall hadn’t been one of her favorite characters in the game, although he was her favorite tank, but here, in this world, there was so much more to him. He was quite like a bear, all big and rumbly and scary-looking but he had a soft heart. Samarra didn't know the man he'd been when he'd made that fateful decision, she suspected she wouldn't have liked him then, but this humble, modest, kind version she liked. She asked him about his travels, the places he'd been to and the sights he'd seen, careful to steer away from anything that might make him feel threatened. He was a surprisingly good storyteller - his descriptions of the villages and towns he'd been to made her feel as though she were there, right by his side, seeing things through his eyes.

Cassandra and Leliana spent their time overseeing the move. They made sure everything was as coordinated as possible, that no one went too far ahead, or was left too far behind. Leliana worked with Cullen to send out soldiers and archers into the evergreen forest whenever possible to hunt for game, so as to maintain their supplies. They were efficient, but they were withdrawn. Clearly the loss of Haven weighed heavily on their minds, and knowing that the creature who had been behind the explosion at the Conclave, the corruption of the templars and the insidious plotting of the mages was darkspawn magister was clearly a troubling matter. 

It was amazing to see how adversity could bring people together. Where the mages had been feared at Haven, here they were actively sought out. The mages were busy clearing the path of snow, and were in charge of ensuring that the people were warm. They soothed aching muscles, lit fires for cooking, used their magic to melt snow into water when water supplies ran low. Soon they were trusted, and more and more of the villagers interacted with them, asking about their lives, their likes and dislikes. The templars in the group still kept a close eye on the mages, but it wasn’t an overwhelming presence. More often than not, Carroll and Fletcher, or one of the senior templars would be talking with some of the Senior Enchanters, discussing Harrowings. The conversation had been tense at first, but lightened up once the templars understood that the mages only wanted to live without fear, and the mages understood that the templars were only trying to protect the people. It wasn’t a perfect truce by any means, but it opened up the channels of conversation, and many productive discussions sprung up as a result.

They struggled up slopes and marched into valleys, all the while braving the cold. After a week of travel, spirits began flagging. To have spent so long on the road, with no sign of the end, and no knowledge when they would reach their destination took a toll on everyone. Samarra began to worry; the last thing she wanted was someone to accuse Solas of leading them to their death, what with him being an elf and all. Helena seemed to share the same consternation. “Solas,” she asked him one evening when they had made camp, “Do you know how much longer we will be on the road? The people are starting to worry.”

He shared a look with her. Samarra was sure her eyes were worried, having heard a few complaints that had distressed her. He seemed to understand the reason for Helena’s concern, and spoke up calmly. “We should be able to see it in a day or two.”

“You’re sure?” the Herald asked, a note of relief in her voice.

“I am. We are not far from our destination.”

Thanking him, the brunette left to spread the news, hoping it would allay fears. Samarra was quiet, staring into the campfire, ignoring the noises around her.

“You are unusually quiet,” he commented.

“Not really in the mood for talking,” she said, flashing him a quick smile.

They stayed as they were, in a companionable silence, each in their own thoughts. Finally, he rose, and held out a hand to her. “Come,” he said softly.

She stared at him for a moment, before slipping her hand into his. He helped her to her feet. Tucking her arm in his, he guided her to a spot on the edge of the mountain pass where they had camped. She trembled as she saw how far the drop below them was. She wasn’t very fond of heights, and he caught on.

“You are afraid of heights?” he asked, amusement lacing his words.

“I think I’m more scared of the potential fall than I am of the height,” she replied with a weak smile. “How long will I be falling for if I slipped and fell? How hard would I hit the bottom?”

His grip on her arm tightened. “I will not let you fall,” he promised.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“You are fond of the night sky. Do you know the constellations that the stars form?” he asked.

“No,” she replied.

“I will teach you,” he said. He took her to a dark corner, from where they could see practically every star in the sky. They shone so brightly she had nothing to compare them to. He pointed out the various constellations, tracing the pattern with his finger. He showed her Kios, the supposed representation of the Old God Zazikale, and Toth, the Dragon of Fire. He showed her Equinor, telling her that it was initially supposed to represent Ghila’nain, the elven goddess, but now represented a horse. He showed her how the original constellation would have looked.

  


She listened eagerly, as her eyes sought out the individual stars that made up the constellations. The sky, once so unfamiliar to her, began taking on a familiarity as he he told her the secrets and stories of it.

“It’s all so beautiful,” she breathed, once he had finished talking.

“There is knowledge and beauty everywhere, if one only searches for it.”

“True,” she agreed, then returned to her star gazing. When a particularly cold burst of wind set her teeth on edge, she turned towards him. “Can we go back?”

He agreed, and they began making their way back, navigating the dark, narrow path with the help of the light orbs Solas had produced. But Samarra was too busy trying to catch a glimpse of one particular constellation that had thoroughly fascinated her - Fenrir, the white wolf - and so she failed to notice the patch of ice her foot stepped on. She cried out in alarm as she slipped, her hands flailing and trying to grasp onto something.

A hard, strong arm wrapped around her waist. “ _Te’telsilathe da’assan_ ,” he murmured, as she began to hyperventilate. “I have you. I promised I would not let you fall, did I not?” he said, rubbing her back as she clung to him, still shuddering from the sudden scare.

“It’s a good thing you have fast reflexes,” she muttered. “I would rather avoid becoming a paste.”

As they walked back into camp, Dorian came up to them. “So there you are!” he exclaimed, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Helena was asking about you. I informed her that our resident elven apostate here had whisked you away for a quick ravaging, and what do you know, it appears as though I was right.” He winked at her.

Samarra turned beet red. “Nothing of the sort!” she sputtered. “Solas was kind enough to volunteer to teach me the constellations in the sky. He also saved my life on our way back here.”

That seemed to sober Dorian instantly. “What happened?” he demanded.

“I was stupid, didn’t see an ice patch. I slipped on it, nearly fell to my doom if he hadn’t caught me in time.”

“For the love of the Maker, Samarra, can’t you for once just not have a near-death experience?” he exclaimed, exasperated. “You do seem remarkably fond of them. It will not do to have the one person I can converse freely with suffer from a death wish syndrome. I forbid it.”

She chuckled. “Forbid it?”

To her utter surprise, Solas chimed in, agreeing with the Tevinter mage. “As much as I am loathe to say so, the man does have a fair point. You do seem to go out of your way to place yourself in situations that have the potential to be dangerous.”

“I do no such thing,” she said frustratedly.

“All we suggest is to be more careful,” Solas said diplomatically. 

“Ugh, _fine_. Are you two happy now?”

She half expected them to give each other a high five, but instead they just rolled their eyes at her. At her!! When all she did was agree to listen to them!

_Men, ugh. All the same everywhere._

* * *

She knew instinctively when they were close to Skyhold. She could feel it in the air, could hear the music in her head. The glorious sound played in her head, the light, hopeful tune of the violin. She could hear it so clearly, and she ached to share it with someone. She knew Cole could hear it, but she what she needed was a way to transfer the sounds in her head to the air molecules around her.

As their path became steeper and rockier, she felt her heart beat louder. There was magic in the air, and she could sense it. She looked around, puzzled that no one else had commented upon it. In fact, the mages - even Fiona and Dorian - seemed unaware of it, blithely continuing on their route. _What is going on?_ she wondered. _Is Solas casting a spell over me or something?_ It didn’t feel that way, though. It just felt as though the air thrummed with the remnants of a powerful spell... That was when it struck her. She was detecting what remained of the magic that Solas had used to create the Veil. It was apparent no one else could detect it. That made her uneasy. Not only because she was the only one who felt it, but because the magic felt at once familiar and strange. As though a tool had been used for a purpose it was not meant for. The back of her neck prickled, and her skin broke into goosebumps.

She debated whether or not to ask Solas about it. One one hand, he could probably give her an answer. On the other, he would deduce she was the only one who could sense it, and it would make him more suspicious of her.

Curiosity overcame apprehension. She made her way over to him. He was walking rigidly, his face blank, but she could see a misery in his eyes. She could almost sense the ache and bitter recrimination in him, and it made her feel sad. _How would it have felt,_ she wondered, _to have been pushed into a position where the only thing you thought you could do to save your people was to lock away the people you once considered to be family? What was he thinking as he came here, after Mythal’s death, vowing to avenge her? How did he feel as he cast the spell, as the Veil was spun? Did he have any doubts? Or was he just angry?_

“Solas,” she called out softly, her voice meant for his ears alone. “Solas… do you feel it?” she asked hesitantly. “The magic in the air? It feels like… traces of a powerful spell.”

He stared at her, his face inscrutable, his eyes shuttered. “Yes,” he said quietly. “It is ancient magic, most likely that of the elves of old.”

“But no one else can sense it,” she said, confused. “Why?”

“It is probable that the marks on your arm have sensitized you to all magic,” he said. “I have had prior experience with this kind of magic… albeit in the Fade. Perhaps that is why you and I can sense it while the others cannot.”

“Oh,” she said. “I wonder what happened here. A fortress in the middle of the mountains. Remnants of centuries old magic in the air. Was a massive battle fought here? By whom? Why were they here in the first place?”

He chuckled. Her curiosity seemed to have brightened his mood. “So many questions, _da’assan_. Unfortunately I do not have the answers for them. All I know of this place is that it was, indeed, a place that has seen many battles. The name ascribed to the fortress is _Tarasyl’an Tel'as_.”

“The place where the sky was held back,” she murmured. “I wonder…” she broke off, shaking her head. “So Skyhold is a very rough translation of the elven name?”

“You presume correctly,” he said, giving her a strange look. “It is one I thought the Herald and her advisors might find easier to use.”

“You’re probably right,” she replied with a chuckle.

They fell into silence, Samarra focusing on trying to draw in as much oxygen she could from the thin atmosphere.

“What were you about to say?” Solas asked her casually. “You began to say something, then stopped.”

“Maybe it was a secret, Solas,” she grinned at him. “You really shouldn’t pry, you know.”

“To know, and to do, are two different matters,” he said with a small, cheeky smile. “I am aware it is not polite to pry into one’s affairs. Unfortunately it appears that where you are concerned, I cannot seem to follow societal convention.”

“It was nothing,” she hedged. “Just a silly thought.”

“I have yet to find any of your thoughts lackluster. I should very much like to hear it.”

“Maybe I don’t want to tell you,” she muttered.

“A secret for a secret, then,” he cajoled, eyes twinkling.

She mulled over the offer. “Deal,” she finally said. “Don’t whine if you aren’t happy with what I was thinking, okay? I did warn you it was nothing.”

“I highly doubt anything you say could ever be classified as ‘nothing’,” he said smoothly.

She rolled her eyes. “You said this place was known as _tarasyl’an telas_. The place where the sky was held back. Key words here: _held back_. Was this where the Veil was created? Is that what the magic that lingers in this place is?”

She waited for him to respond. When he said nothing, she turned to face him. His face was the careful mask she had grown used to; but it was his eyes that caught her attention. There was pride shining in them, mixed with a deep, untamed hunger. It frightened and confused her, even as it drew her in. 

“Solas?” There was a hitch in her voice.

He turned away from her immediately. “It is certainly a theory,” he said calmly. If she hadn’t seen it for herself, she would have thought she’d imagined things. Even now, hearing how stoic he sounded, she was somewhat unsure...

“What was your secret,” she asked, brushing her concern aside.

“By a strange coincidence, I was going to remark on the state of the Veil,” he said, sounding slightly amused now. “The Veil is old here.”

“Well, that proves it,” she declared. “The Veil was created here. Do you know what that means?” she asked excitedly.

“Hush, calm down, _da’assan_. Do not be over-eager. There is little proof as to your hypothesis. Furthermore, were this to spread among the Inquisition, we would be inundated with requests from scholars across Thedas wishing to conduct tests here. Would it really be wise to make such a bold proclamation?

“You might have a point there.”

They climbed up the last ridge, the first two to do so. And there, she saw it. A massive fortress, warm brown stone lit by sunlight, nestled in the heart of the mountain range, surrounded by snow-capped mountains that sparkled. It was a hidden gem, a diamond in the rough. It radiated power and commanded attention; it was very much like its owner.

She could hear the music in her head again, the deep, dramatic part of the Journey to Skyhold theme. She felt Solas’ warmth as he moved to stand behind her, could feel his breath as he leaned in towards her ear.

“There it is,” he whispered, his voice warm and rich. _“Tarasyl’an tel'as_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> _Te'telsilathe da'assan_ \- don't worry, little arrow
> 
> The Journey to Skyhold theme is epic and I will _fight_ anyone who says otherwise.
> 
> Seriously though, the music in the game is just so amazing. Each time I listen to the Trespasser soundtrack, I nearly weep, because the music... it's just so painful and heartwrenching and sweet and hopeful and ominous all at once... Trevor Morris is a genius.


	52. Codex Entry: On Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's talk about plumbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

Skyhold was **enormous**. The game had done it a huge, huge, _huge_ injustice. It was the size of a small city. A drawbridge ran over a narrow but deep valley, leading to a well-fortified barbican. The barbican was connected to the main guardhouse by a fixed bridge that also spanned a large, shallow valley. Even Samarra could see that the area under the fixed bridge was to be used as training grounds. The area was large and flat, and sheltered from the cold winds. She could count twelve towers from where she stood, and knew there would be more at the back of it. She could see the tops of several round towers, a fact that surprised her. The parapet walks were raised high and looked sturdy. The curtain wall was solid and impenetrable, Samarra was sure of it. She could make out the main keep, and several other smaller buildings.

She was dying to get inside.

“Solas,” she breathed, unsure what to say. “Solas. I…”

He chuckled softly, but he seemed to be inordinately pleased by her reaction. “It appears as though I have rendered you speechless for once.”

“I.. what is there to say? How does one describe perfection?”

She could practically feel the smugness oozing out from him.

“Andraste’s flaming sword, Solas,” Helena caught up to them, “tell me that’s ours. Tell me that’s where we’re going.”

“Welcome to Skyhold, Herald,” he said with a straight face.

The last stretch of the trek was much faster. Now that their destination was in plan view, everyone was eager to get to it. Samarra was more than a little scared as she walked over the drawbridge - it was made of wood, and it looked quite old, and it ran over a very deep valley. Solas reassured her that the mages had reinforced the wood, freezing the water that had soaked into the material so that it would become firmer, harder and stronger as the Inquisition made their way over it.

It made sense, but she still clung to Dorian’s arm tightly, much to the Tevinter’s amusement.

They made their way through the portcullis, finally entering the fortress proper. Samarra’s breath was taken away a second time around. _Look at it. It’s so magnificent. Look at how it stands, strong and proud. So much like the elf who it belongs to. I don’t think I’ll ever get over this. Ever. It’s stunning._

There was a lower bailey, where the stables - easily four times the size of Haven’s Chantry - could be seen on the right. On the left was a large open space. It was a third the size of the Summer market at Val Royeaux. Samarra immediately theorized that was where Skyhold’s marketplace would be set up. From the size of it, she expected more than the few stores the game had shown. Judging by the number of worn-down booths, Skyhold should have been quite the bustling center of business when it was last occupied - and it would be once more, undoubtedly. She made her way up to the middle bailey. Here were several huge buildings. Three of them were clearly barracks. There was an armory, a large kitchen with an attached dining hall, a building that looked as though it could serve as officers accommodation, as well as one she thought could be used by the requisitions officer.

The upper bailey had the keep from the game, an imposing white stone building that had turned a pretty dove grey from exposure to the elements. There were also servants quarters, another kitchen, two buildings that Samarra guessed Josephine would convert into rooms for visiting nobility - they had very pretty views of the mountains - as well as a building she recognized as the tavern. It was so much bigger in person. Here were also the several circular buildings. She theorized that one would serve as base of operations for the spymaster, having very large windows scattered through it. The other could serve as the library. 

Cullen had given orders for the soldiers to set up camp at the lower bailey - the sun was close to setting and they would not be able to examine fully the fortress till tomorrow. She waited for the others to catch up, and they made their way into the main Keep. A long passageway lead to an elevated level, with large, gothic windows at the far end. Pieces of colored glass held on valiantly to the frames. The corridor was twice as long as it was wide - and it was very wide indeed - was littered with rubble, rotting wood and other debris. There was the stench of decomposition in the air, alongside that of feces and urine.

Solas, Samarra and Dorian managed to clear a path through the debris (the First Enchanter had declined the invitation to join them in exploring the fortress). A door on the left lead to a garden surrounded by several rooms. The second door lead to another corridor; there were three rooms that were clearly meant as offices down the length of the corridor. A stairwell to the right lead to somewhere, but they were too apprehensive about the lack of natural light to investigate.

The first room on the right lead to a beautiful rotunda. Samarra immediately recognized the room as the one where Solas would create his masterpieces honoring the Inquisition. Rather than the two floors that had been depicted in the game, there was only a single floor with three rooms spaced out, but they all overlooked the rotunda. Samarra wondered what it had been used for in the past. Again, contrary to the game, there was no passageway that lead out to the battlements (or Cullen’s office, as the case might be) from the rotunda itself, but the first floor had corridor that lead to a second building.

There was a room on the left off the throne area, one she assumed to be the Inquisitor’s quarters. The other one, on the right side could not be seen clearly, but there were steps leading down someplace, and judging by the roar of water that could be hear, she guessed it would be the foundry where Harritt and Dagna would set up their specialized workshop.

There was silence as they returned to the lower bailey. Finally, Josephine spoke up. “There is much work to be done,” she said, a tad miserable. “We do not have the resources to fund the necessary repairs.”

“One at a time, Josie,” she said cheerfully. “We just got here. The soldiers can help clear out the debris. Everyone else can help with the cleaning.”

“That still does not address the matter of appropriate bedding and furniture! Not to mention food! How are we going to provide for so many people? They all depend on us!”

Leliana tried to calm her down. “What about the furniture we found in the rooms? Can we salvage them?”

“I cannot say. Even if they can be, we don’t have many carpenters with us.” Josephine replied unhappily.

“Actually…” Everyone turned to look at her. “You have someone who can help. Blackwall?” she questioned. “You’re good at woodworking, aren’t you?”

The Warden turned red. It was adorable. “I know some basics, yes,” he mumbled.

“Well, there you go. Blackwall can help reclaim what we can. The rest will work itself out, Josephine. By now, everyone would have learnt of Haven’s destruction. Contact the nobles. Tell them of our ordeal. They will help. I daresay even King Aedan and Queen Anora will be willing to help us.”

“I hope that is true,” Josephine said, sounding uncertain.

“The hardest part is over. We have a place to rebuild! Let’s focus on that tonight, shall we?”

* * *

They began work next morning at dawn. Soldiers were sent through the keep to clear out the debris, which the mages burnt to ashes. The villagers followed up with buckets of water and cloth, wiping away the dirt and grime that coated the floors and walls.

The advisors, Helena and Samarra took another tour of the keep, this time for planning purposes. Samarra had insisted on helping with the planning, stating that she would ensure that hygiene standards were maintained at the highest level. Cullen was to work on fortifying the defenses. It had been an unspoken agreement amongst everyone that Skyhold would be their permanent base. They would not run from here. Samarra didn’t feel the need to tell them that they wouldn’t.

She quickly decided that the ancient elves who built this fortress were fucking geniuses. There had been a method to their madness. The location was well chosen, though it wouldn’t have appeared that way to the others. Every level in every tower that they browsed through had a small room on the side. A row of holes covered a long stone bench, a rudimentary toilet of sorts. Long stone pipes came into and exited the room. Samarra soon broke off from the others, and began exploring in earnest with the other healers. They traced the pipes back to the roof of one of the towers at the very back of the fortress. There, they found several large cisterns. There were several broken pipes leading away from the cistern, and Samarra immediately understood that the pipes were meant to draw water from the ever-flowing waterfall - the same waterfall that could be heard in the soon-to-be foundry, no doubt.

Ashalle, Everna, Giles and Ellandra watched in utter bemusement as she did a little jig of celebration. “Why are you celebrating?” Ellandra finally asked her.

“Because, my dear Enchanter, “she exclaimed gaily, “do you know what this means? Skyhold will have constantly running water. No more toilet trenches, no more pit latrines. No more basic plumbing. We will have _proper_ hygiene.” 

They began tracing the toilet channels, which lead them outside the walls of the fortress, to a deep cavern in the ground. The glow of hot, molten lava, red hot and angry, could be seen - and felt! - from where they stood. Samarra made a note in her journal to get someone to fence off the area. 

The stone pipes and toilet were in good condition, if blocked in places. It would take time to declog everything, but Samarra was sure once they repaired the pipes that connected the cisterns to the waterfall, the plumbing would take care of itself.

Next came the matter of walking through the potential living quarters. Samarra began by walking through the barracks. Once again, she was pleased to find that the room was large and airy. Each of the barracks had four floors, and each floor could accommodate a hundred and fifty men with ease. Each floor also had eight of the toilet chambers. Each toilet chamber had ten holes, or ‘commodes,’ which meant three people would share a commode. _Fantastic._

Each floor also had five bathing chambers with ten ‘showers’ each. There was a pipe running overhead near the roof of the room that carried water. There were holes cut in the pipe. To turn on the shower, there was a sliding mechanism made of stone that would expose the hole. To turn it off, all one had to do was cover the hole once again. It was a simple, effective, genius invention.

Satisfied, and thoroughly impressed Samarra made her way to the servants quarters. The building had four floors to it. The first floor had ten large cells each, clearly intended for those with families. The back of each room had a ‘commode’ and a ‘shower’ hidden behind a jut in the wall. The second floor had fifteen cells - five were the same size as those on the first floor, and ten were smaller. The smaller rooms were likely meant for couples, and they too had a private shower and toilet area. The third floor had five of the couples rooms, and ten smaller cells, meant most likely for single occupants. After every three single rooms was a shower and toilet room. The top floor had twenty single rooms, and ten shower/toilet rooms.

The level of detail was meticulous. It became clear to her that the architect was aware of the dangers of living in crowded spaces, and was well aware of the measures that would maintain sanitary living conditions.

She moved to the kitchens in the middle bailey. Long countertops made of stone served as cutting blocks. There were rooms meant for the storage of grain. She noted the places where runes that would prevent the buildup of humidity were placed, and made a note to ask Solas to recharge them. Two rooms with worn-out ice runes that was clearly meant for meat and dairy were also present. A large airy pantry was there to store vegetables and fruit. 

One side of the room was dedicated entirely to a washing area, with multiple pipes supplying water. There were even counters below and above to sink to store dishes and vessels. Another side was devoted to stove tops. There were thirty burners, and they shared a chimney vent with the fifteen large stone ovens that were placed outside the kitchen. The chimney vents were carefully designed so that there would be no buildup of smoke in one area. Samarra though she could spot a wind rune at the top of each vent, but she couldn’t be sure.

The kitchens on the upper bailey were much the same. Even the tavern had the potential to be clean - the kitchen at the back had a water supply for cooking and cleaning purposes, and five stovetops. There were two large dark rooms underground, meant for storing wines, ales, spirits and what not, their location causing the rooms to be nice and chill. The tavern had four floors, the first floor resembling the one in the game - with a large bar counter area, and several big tables scattered throughout. There was, once again, a toilet room with fifteen commode holes towards the back of the room, on the right hand side. The second and third floors were quieter. The fourth floor had several rooms, possibly meant for those who were too deep in the cups to find their way back to their sleeping area. Samarra knew that Sera would claim the largest of them for herself.

The ‘guest buildings’ had three floors. Two different stairwells allowed access to each of the twp upper floors, allowing the illusion that each floor was special and grand in its own right. Each floor had five large rooms, with each room looking as though it had been painted a different color. There was a large stone bathtub in each of the rooms, and a toilet and vanity area. A prettily carved pipe brought water into the tub, and there was a inactive heating rune at the bottom of it. A stone plug covered the drain. Samarra got down on her knees to see where the water from the pipe would drain to, and she discovered that there was a smaller pipe at the bottom, that joined up with the one beneath the toilet.

She then made her way to the building she’d tentatively eyed as the infirmary. She was positively delighted by what she saw. The space was wide and airy, with large windows allowing in fresh air and sunlight. It was tucked away in a corner, away from noise and crowds. She eyed the space with a critical eye. She could fit fifty cots on each floor, and allow spaces for storage of materials and potions. There were thirty toilets on each floor. There was also a wide basin that jutted out from the wall. A water pipe ran along the wall the basin was attached to, with little holes cut into it. There were even little troughs on top of the pipe where bars of soap could be stored. Shelves above the pipe could carry fresh, clean towels, and maybe even bandages. The second floor was exactly like the first. The top floor had five rooms, ostensibly meant for the healers. Each of the rooms had its own bathtub and toilet. 

She opened the door at the far end of the corridor on the third floor, which lead to a passageway. The passageway was well-lit, having several square windows as well as provisions for braziers. At the other end of the corridor was another door, which, when she opened, lead to the first floor of the rotunda. She examined each of the three rooms there. The rooms were large, and well ventilated. The far end of the room was covered with windows, affording a stunning view of the mountains above, as well as the fortress below. There was a bathtub and a small vanity area, a toilet. The bathtub seemed different, though, and she went to observe it closer. To her utter delight, the pipe over the bathtub split into two. The lower level of the pipe was meant to supply water to the tub, while the other was meant to serve as a shower! She did a little dance. Oh, she was so claiming one of these rooms for herself. There was space for a bed and a desk and chair, even a small bookshelf. She could picture the room in her eye. The desk would be placed against the window, the bookshelf next to it. She’d place a nice, comfy seat next to the bookshelf because why not? She’d get screens to cover the bathroom area better. She could put a small wardrobe by the door. It would be perfect… even more so if Vivienne did not take up residence anywhere in this area.

Finally, she went out to the peristylium. The rooms here were similar to the ones in the rotunda, with the exception of the shower modification. The view wasn’t as pretty, but it was well sheltered, and would be warmer. There were twelve rooms there in total, perfect for the the Inner Circle, although she had made her mind up to claim the room in the rotunda for herself, the others be damned. It was perfect, close enough to the infirmary that she could be called without delay, and isolated enough from the rest of the Keep that she could have some privacy to herself.

The mages, she decided, could be given three of the towers. Those who specialized in healing could be given the one closest to the infirmary. The ones who specialized in elemental magic, and had an interest in learning combat, could be given one closer to the barracks. The remaining mages could stay in the tower between the two. Cullen of course, would benefit from the central tower over the guardhouse. It had three entrances, two connecting to the other towers - indeed, it connected the most of the parapets and battlements - and the third leading directly to the main Keep. She made her way over to the place in question, noting everything around her with a keen eye. Already the fortress was starting to look cleaner, and more habitable. She wondered if she should look over the stables, and decided it was worth taking a look at - again, much like every single building in the fortress, every measure had been taken to ensure that it would be as clean as possible. Winding her way back to the guardhouse tower, she was startled to find the Commander already there. It seemed as though he had had the same idea as she did, because he was scoping out the space.

“Commander,” she greeted politely after an awkward silence. They hadn’t spoken since the incident with the mob, and she had been in no mood to talk to him, either. She was very tired of his bias against her, and his inclination to immediately assume she was guilty without sufficient proof.

“Seeress,” he replied, his face pink. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I’m making a tentative plan as to how to accommodate everyone,” she said pleasantly. “I hope I can offer a fresh perspective to the Ambassador. As a healer, my goal is to prevent disease wherever possible.”

“And what do you think of the fortress?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“It's a masterpiece. Whoever has constructed this has done so with a great deal of forethought. There are provisions for fresh water throughout the keep, supplied by a constantly-running waterfall. There are some repairs to be done, but when it is functional, it'll go a great deal towards reducing infection.”

He nodded, and seemed to hesitate. “I must apologize for what I said and did after Haven fell,” he said bluntly. “I was angry and worried, but that is no excuse. You have done nothing to warrant the insults that were directed your way.”

“I understand, Commander. And I accept your apology.” It was much like the man himself - blunt, straightforwardly delivered with no hesitation, and filled with genuine emotion. It would be a mean-spirited person indeed who could not forgive an apology like that.

“Where do you think I should keep my office?” he asked, almost as an afterthought.

“That was why I came here,” she said with a smile. “I think this would be very suitable for you. You have a large space for working here. Windows will allow you to keep an eye on the soldiers. More importantly, you’ll have three doors. Open communication, Commander, is important. You’ll always be within reach. I believe there is a floor above this. If it is like the rest of the towers, it can serve as your bedroom.” He looked surprised at her rationale, but he didn’t argue. She eyed the ladder at the corner of the room. Contrary to what she’d expected, it was made of stone. “Well, up I go, then.”

The room above was a mess, but it could be made habitable. There was a hole in the roof, and she immediately made a note to ask Blackwall if he could fix it. There was no way she was letting it remain, like in the game, it had bugged her too much. Otherwise, the room was large, and had its own bathroom, just like the others. There was space enough for a good-sized bed - the Commander would need one, especially if he intended to continue romancing Helena, she thought to herself with a smirk - and other items that would usually furnish a room. Satisfied, she made her way back down to where Cullen was waiting.

“Well?” he asked.

“Everything looks good to go,” she said, giving him a thumbs up. “The roof needs a bit of mending, and I’m not sure if the plumbing is fully functional yet, but otherwise, I think this will be the perfect place for your office.”

“Excellent,” he remarked.

They walked down to the lower bailey together, discussing her suggestions. As they made their way over to the others, Samarra was surprised - and startled - to find not one, but two people giving her dirty looks.

Helena and Solas.

_Whoops._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I've ever written so much about plumbing before. This was surprisingly more difficult to write than I thought! In retrospect, I wonder if I've written _too_ much about bathrooms...
> 
> Just in case anyone was curious as to Samarra's hair and eyes, I took inspiration from [this picture](http://www.lovethispic.com/uploaded_images/25771-Red-Hair-.jpg). [I realize I should have probably included this sooner, whoops. Oh well!]


	53. A Clean Place Is A Safe Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting things in order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Seriously, you guys are so awesome. Thank you for all the sweet comments and kudos! I appreciate every one of them. And thank you to [issuestheperson](http://issuestheperson.tumblr.com/) who sketched a very demure Samarra - all the better to fool Solas, amiright?
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
> * * *

“The Commander and I were just discussing the layout of the fortress,” Samarra said pleasantly, trying to ignore the fact that both the Herald and Solas did not seem happy to see her with Cullen. “We also had a little chat about… certain events that took place before we got here. The matter has been resolved now.”

Helena brightened up at her statement, but Solas’ eyes were still narrowed. _Good lord, the dude says he’s interested in me - which is TOTALLY NOT WHAT HAPPENED IN THE GAME THANKYOUVERYMUCH - and now he thinks I want to bang everyone who isn’t him. Awesome._

Solas had never made any mention of what had transpired between them at Haven, hadn’t made any unwanted overtures towards her. Still, she couldn’t help but be aware of him. Every time their eyes met, every conversation, every discussion, every argument, she would remember what he had told her. Remember that he was attracted towards her. And she was human, and had failings and weaknesses of her own… to know that the Dread Wolf was drawn towards her made her feel… Powerful. Invincible. Aroused, too, if she were being brutally honest.

But she was an Adult, capital A, the pay-your-bills-on-time, sign-on-the-dotted-line kind, and she had _no choice_ but to raise defensive walls against him.

Even so, the Dread Wolf was a formidable opponent. She knew he waited patiently, knew that he was confident he could wear down her walls. He knew, just as she did, that even the toughest walls could be brought down with time. If she was a stone cliff, stern and unyielding, then he was the stormy sea, crashing down on her relentlessly, slowly and gradually turning the rock into harmless sand. 

It did not reassure her, and she reminded herself to keep him at arm’s length.

That plan went to pot immediately, for she found herself sitting next to the annoyed Egg as they settled around the makeshift table for their midday meal. Once again, Vivienne was nowhere to be seen. Samarra was getting rather suspicious of her. Where did the woman disappear to randomly? Still, Leliana did not seem worried, so she pushed it out of her mind.

“What is your assessment of the fortress, Samarra?” Josephine asked politely.

“It’s bloody brilliant,” Samarra said through a mouthful of bread, the muffled words causing everyone to laugh. She swallowed the food, and continued, “the architect - and I daresay the builders - are frigging geniuses. This place will be cleaner than Haven ever was.” She went on to explain the pipes and the toilet rooms, and the showers, telling them where the water came from, and how the wastewater was disposed of. Solas was listening intently and politely, his face a neutral mask, but goddamn if his aura wasn’t flinging smugness into the air. 

The meal over, they poured over a rudimentary sketch of Skyhold. Samarra outlined her ideas. “I’d like the infirmary here,” she pointed, “close to these towers. They can house the mages fairly comfortably. I’d like the ones specializing in healing - or who have an interest in the subject - to be closer to the infirmary. The top floor has rooms for the rest of my team. I think Bull will be happy in this tower here - it’ll house him and the Chargers comfortably. It’s also got close proximity to the training ground here, and the tavern here. I’m thinking the rooms around the peristylium will comfortably house the Herald’s companions, and they’re in a separate section altogether so there will be some privacy. This building, here, with the large windows I think would be perfect for our spymaster. The other building I think would make a wonderful library. This tower here, with the three entrances, would be ideal for the Commander. There is also a room above it that he can use as his bedchamber, but it requires some repairs. These rooms here, on this corridor, would work as offices. I’m sure our creature researchers, Minaeve and Helisma, could use a workspace of their own. Another could go to Adan; he could certainly use a place to keep track of our herb supplies. I believe the third could go to Fiona. She is the leader of the mages after all, and deserves an official room. This open space here would work well for our ambassador. It is large enough for you to have your workspace, Josephine, in addition to a nook for hosting smaller meetings.”

“The only problem I foresee is here,” Samarra continued, pointing towards the door left of the throne area. “It splits into two, and one of them goes down into an area Harritt says would be excellent for a specialized forge. The other leads to a very large apartment, very private, something I believe would have been used by the lord of this place in times of old. If we can create a separate entrance to the lower area, that would be better I think. That way, this space here,” she pointed at the door to the right of the throne area, “can be used as a meeting room. There is already a large table there, it would make a fantastic war room.”

There was silence for several moments. When she looked around the table, everyone seemed stunned. Solas was eyeing her with suspicion again. _Okay, egghead, what did I do this time? They’re all just suggestions, okay? Skyhold doesn’t have the same layout here as it did in the game, I can’t help it._

“All excellent suggestions,” Bull spoke up, his gaze hard on her. “You’ve clearly thought this through. Now where would a healer learn about things like this?”

She rolled her eyes. “I look, I see, I observe, and I imagine,” she said. “I’m sure you could also have come up with suggestions were you so inclined to.”

His eye never left hers, and she desperately fought the urge to squirm.

“What does everyone think?” Josephine asked.

“Plan’s good for the most part,” Blackwall rumbled, “but if you don’t mind, Lady Josephine, I’d prefer one of the rooms over the stables for myself.”

“I’m calling dibs on the one in the tavern, yeah?” Sera interjected. “Don’t need to be near no prissy nobles.”

Josephine sighed and made a note. “Anyone else?” she asked.

“I think the little red here has the right idea,” Bull boomed. “That tower looks good to me.”

“Little red?” she asked him with a frown. “You still calling me that when you call Leliana Red? Bit of a confusion, isn’t it? _Besides, there’s that whole implication of little red riding hood..._

“Alright, we’ll just change it to little wolf. You like that better?

“Seriously, Bull? A wolf?” she rolled her eyes. _For fuck’s sake Bull, you better come up with a better name. The LAST thing I need is Solas thinking we’re kin or some shit. You better not create any complications for me!_

He shrugged. “You ever seen a wolf? They’re pack animals. Thrive in a group. Sociable, friendly, intelligent, with a potential to be deadly, savage and vicious. You wanna tell me that doesn’t sound like you?”

“Sure,” she agreed. “It also sounds like Helena. And Dorian. And Varric. Pretty much everyone here, really. Well, except for Josephine,” she said, flashing the ambassador a bright grin, “the ambassador’s a sweetheart.” Josephine blushed prettily.

He shrugged again. “If it fits, it sticks,” he said, his eye gleaming.

“Not all of us want to be named after animals, you know,” she muttered, and he threw his head back and roared in laughter.

“Come now, little wolf, there’s no need to sulk,” he teased her. “I’m sure everyone else feels the way I do.”

She looked around the table, a challenge in her eyes. “Well?” she demanded. “Is he right?”

Cullen started to laugh, then immediately began coughing to hide the fact. Leliana and Cassandra looked amused. Helena looked thrilled. _Great. I don’t think this is going to go so well for me._ She didn’t dare look at Solas, but knew Bull would notice if she treated him any differently. He looked thoughtful… which wasn’t a good sign.

“Look, I have a name, and I like my name, so why can’t we all just call me that?” she pleaded in a last-ditch effort to get them to drop the idea.

“Alright, Sammy, calm down,” Helena teased.

“Sammy?” she groaned. “Oh, come on.”

“There’s no pleasing you, is there?” the brunette joked. “You don’t get to choose your nickname, you know. We get to do it for you.”

Josephine brought them back on track. “We still have not decided on accommodations,” she said sternly. “Samarra, is there any particular room you would like?”

“Yes,” she said. “This one here is perfect for me. It is close to the infirmary.” Josephine put her name down on the little square that marked the room.

Dorian claimed the room next to hers, saying that he needed his privacy. He grinned at Samarra and added, “Plus, I have a great neighbor!” She shook her head in amusement.

Solas politely requested the third room in the rotunda, much to Samarra’s alarm. _Why there? Can’t you find another place? Dammit, Solas, you know this place better than I do, pick another room someplace else will you?_ But she knew it made sense, especially since he had offered his services as an artist, stating that he would like to paint on the blank walls of the rotunda below. Josephine looked unsure, but agreed. Helena teased them about forming a ‘mage squad’ of sorts. “I bet the three of you will spend so much time in your little magical discussions that you’ll forget to do anything else!” 

“Sure,” Samarra cheekily agreed, “we’ll just be coming up with plans on how to turn your room into ice or something.”

Helena laughed.

By the time they ended their meeting several hours later, they had designated living areas to everyones, from the servants to the Inner Circle. She’d noticed Cassandra, Leliana, Cullen and Josephine exchange looks, and knew they would meet in private later to discuss the matter of appointing Helena as Inquisitor.

There was an feeling of urgency in the air. Everyone was occupied, busy in one way or another. Josephine wrote countless letters to the nobles, informing them of the attack at Haven and their survival, and requesting aid. Leliana worked closely with her scouts, sending a few to scout the surrounding area. Samarra saw Lace Harding poring over a map. “We’re trying to see the possible route Corypheus could have taken when he retreated,” she said grimly. “If we can find out where he’d hiding, we can get to him before he gets to us.” The spymaster was also busy re-training all her precious ravens to familiarize themselves to their new surroundings. Cullen set up guard rotations, and a constant watch was posted on all four corners of the fortress. He and Cassandra worked with Bull and Blackwall to set up training for the soldiers. Cullen insisted that his men needed to get back to a routine as quickly as possible.

The rest of the Inner Circle contributed in their own way. Varric touched base with a few of his contacts in the Merchant’s Guild, and was able to recruit some dwarven stonemasons, including the famous Voldrik Glavonak, the surface dwarf who had restored Vigil’s Keep after the attack by darkspawn. Even Vivienne pulled through and was able to use her noble connections to fill the Inquisition coffers. Sera, the trigger-happy, magic-fearing archer, lead a group of volunteers into the evergreen forests around the fortress to hunt for meat. Cole, of course, in his typical Cole fashion flitted around from person to person helping in that way only he could. She’d sternly told him not to kill anyone, no matter how much pain they were in. “If they need a healer, I want you to come and fetch either me or Solas, okay? We’ll be able to help them.” she’d told him.

Blackwall rounded up a group of villagers who had woodworking skills, and they began the painstaking work of salvaging whatever furniture they could. Any wood that could not be repaired but was too good to throw was kept aside; Samarra knew he would use it later to carve toys for the children.

She was busy, too. She herded up several mages specializing in the water and ice fields, and lead them up to the cisterns. She wanted to flush out the plumbing, so that they could check for leaks. Soldiers were posted in the buildings to observe for said leaks. The mages drew on their power, and filled the cisterns with water. Immediately, there was a rumble, a slight shudder, and the sound of water running through dry pipes could be heard. Throughout the keep, exclamations of surprise could be heard, as the people had their first experience of good plumbing and running water. When she climbed back down, the Requisitions officer handed her the report, noting that most of the plumbing was in good condition, there seemed to be no blockages, but there were a few leaks, mostly in the barracks and in the guest accommodations.

That exercise done, she next worked closely with Giles, Everna, Ashalle and Ellandra to see what they would need for the infirmary. They asked for volunteers among the mages, and to Samarra’s surprise, only ten stepped forward. The other healers were very shaky in their knowledge of healing, and it made Samarra sad. Most of the mages hadn’t felt the need to study healing as the subject apparently drew a lot of negative attention and suspicion from templars in the Circle. Samarra and her crew of healers also pulled in volunteers from among the villagers. She had come to realize that she could really not heal every person individually, it was too taxing on her. She and Ellandra agreed that Samarra would only step in for the very serious cases - minor cases could be handled by the usual bandage-poultice-potion route. The mage healers Samarra wanted to train by the time Adamant came around, knowing that there would be a lot of wounded during the battle. The villagers - mostly women, but there were several men as well - were eager to learn, having seen for themselves how the changes she’d brought about in Haven had reduced the number of those who were ill.

She was so busy with her tasks, she barely got to see any of the other companions during the daytime. The Inquisition, she realized, was a combined effort. In its infancy, everyone had to work hard - and they were willing to do so.

A week later, the fortress was clean, if bare and unfurnished. Samarra refused to let anyone move into the buildings until the water pipes of the cistern had been repaired. There were some grumbles, but any major griping was immediately and ruthlessly squashed down by Cullen or Josephine. Thankfully, Voldrik arrived a few days later with his men. Varric had had the forethought to include a list of urgent repairs along with his letter, and the stonemason had brought the necessary supplies with him.

She soon came to understand why Voldrik was a master at his craft. His keen eye missed nothing. He repaired the pipes within three days, reinforcing the new construction with the Thedosian equivalent of concrete, a recipe he refused to share with anyone. He also pointed out several weak points in the curtain wall to the commander, and suggested ways of improving the battlements. Josephine pleaded with him to conduct the repairs in the main Keep, which he’d grumbled at - “What do I look like, a house builder?” had been his exact words - but Josephine was the kind of person who could get a hungry cat to dance happily with a plump mouse, and he reluctantly agreed.

One of the first rooms that had been repaired was the war room. The single door that lead to the cavern was removed, the opening widened, and two enormous, intricate metal-plated doors were installed in its place. Voldrik also cut a hole in the wall of the Main Hall to create a separate entrance to the foundry. Samarra, Solas and Dorian and several Senior Enchanters had then gone around, placing silencing wards in the area meant for Harritt’s foundry as well as the war room, so as to limit noise (and in the case of the war room, prevent anyone from spying on the meetings from the outside.)

Skyhold began to blossom. The Inquisition coffers were replenished in short order, and Josephine finally got around to furnishing the buildings. She also worked with merchants to supply Skyhold with all it needed - as far as food, clothing and the like were concerned. The newly appointed requisitions office - Threnn having been relegated to some minor patrol on account of her… divisive views about Loghain Mac Tir - was not the stammering, young sapling of the game, but a shrewd, canny man who was able to find loopholes in the most watertight arrangements. He rather reminded Samarra of the shark lawyers on earth, and she mentally made a note not to piss him off inadvertently. 

Two weeks into their stay at Skyhold, and no Inquisitor had been appointed yet. Samarra began to wonder what was going on. _Why had they not announced the Inquisitor yet?_ She began to worry. _Is there something I missed? Do they not think Helena is capable of leading? OH MY GOD. What if the help I gave Helena made them think she’s incompetent? Is that why they haven’t said anything yet? That’s such bullshit! No one else can do what she does! They’re all dumb. If they don’t make Helena Inquisitor I’m going to leave… somewhere._

She needn’t have worried. Later that evening, after dinner, a runner came up to her, and she walked into a meeting with Leliana, Cassandra and Cullen. Josephine was missing, but the spymaster explained that the ambassador was keeping Helena preoccupied.

“I’m guessing you want my opinion on something pertaining to the Herald, then.” she asked guardedly.

“Yes,” Cullen said. “The Inquisition, thanks to help from its allies, is recovering. Thedas is faced with the threat of this ancient darkspawn magister. We need a leader, if we are to tackle this threat.”

“And you want to appoint Helena,” she finished. They nodded.

“Why do you need me for it?” she asked

“We want to know what you think. The Herald is the only one with the power to close the rifts. As Inquisitor, she will have to travel to dangerous regions. We cannot afford to lose her. If appointing her Inquisitor increases the risk of her death, we must look elsewhere,” Cassandra commented.

_Ah. That kind of makes sense, I guess._

She mulled it over. “There are many dangers ahead,” she said, trying to be as vague as possible. “Many trials we are yet to face. There are rifts throughout Ferelden and Orlais. As you said, she is the only one who can close them. It is inevitable that she travel to those places. It is inevitable that she face danger. It is inevitable that she will be hurt, repeatedly even. But if you are looking for a leader, you must appoint the one who has already been leading it. Helena isn’t afraid of making tough decisions. She won’t shy away from hardships and trials. She has the ability to lead, to inspire, to command. Appointing her to the position of Inquisitor will be the best decision you make.”

“How can you be so sure?” Leliana asked.

She shrugged. “Can anyone truly ever be sure? Ask yourself this - has she let you down so far? Hasn’t she gone out of her way to help restore order?”

“We do believe it is the right decision,” Lelian assured her. “We wanted to confirm it was the safest one - as far as the Herald is concerned.”

Samarra gave them a wry smile. “You want an assurance of safety? In the midst of these chaos?”

Leliana laughed her tinkling laugh. “That is a point,” she conceded.

“We will make the announcement tomorrow,” Cassandra decided.

“There is one other matter. When Helena becomes Inquisitor, Cullen, Josephine and I will serve as her advisors. We will help her decide the best course of action for the various missions that will crop up at the war table. We would like to formally ask you to join us.” Leliana said. “Your expertise will be invaluable.”

“Sure, of course. I’m always happy to help out.”

“We will require an official title for you, however. What do you think of Oracle of the Inquisition?” Leliana asked, a twinkle in her eye.

“Please, no,” Samarra grimaced. “It will draw too much attention to me. I’ve already had one assassin sent after me, do you really want more?”

Leliana grinned. “Yes, that was a rather interesting experience, was it not? You charmed the young man so thoroughly he asked me to offer you a position with the Markham Marauders.”

“Good to know I have options,” she dryly stated. “Who did send him?”

“Some old, cranky Ferelden baron,” Leliana shrugged. “Claimed you should have seen the ‘rotten knife-ears’ on his land and done something about them. When he was informed you had no idea who he was, he nearly exploded.”

“Did we do something about the refugees on his land?” she asked, curious.

“Indeed,” Cullen spoke up. “We sent soldiers with supplies, offering them help and safe passage to Haven.”

“Well, yay for us!” she cheered.

“Back to the discussion,” Cassandra interjected, “your official title is to be Chief Surgeon and Head of the Infirmary. Your official duties will include overseeing the health of Skyhold’s inhabitants, maintaining sanitation in the fortress, and of course, looking after those injured or sick. Unofficially, you’ll be advising us as you have been, offering us any insights you may have.”

“We have not thanked you properly for all that you have done for us,” Cullen commented. “From what Helena has told us, and what we have been able to piece together, your actions and planning prevented a great deal of deaths. If we had not been prepared with an exit route, or hoarded supplies, we would have been in a terrible position.”

“We realize you want what is best for the Inquisition,” Cassandra added. “We were fools to have doubted you.”

“What would have happened had you not helped?” Leliana asked, a curious look on her face.

“Haven would have gone down exactly as it did. But without my warning, Commander, the trebuchets would not have been ready. It would have taken time to repair and aim them. You would have taken out fewer of Corypheus’ forces, and Haven would have been overrun by the templars sooner. More lives would have been lost, both civilian and soldiers. Chancellor Roderick would have been attacked by a templar. He would have eventually shown you the escape route, but would have died before you reached Skyhold. Helena would still have volunteered to distract Corypheus, would have still fallen into the tunnel. But without adequate supplies, she would have either perished in the tunnel itself, or the blizzard. Had Leliana not stocked up on supplies, more lives would have been lost in the trek to Skyhold. I don’t even know if you would have landed in Skyhold, to be honest, if Helena were to have died.”

They all looked extremely somber. “We will try not question your actions or your decisions again,” Cullen said at last. “If not knowing what the future holds means that you can save more lives, I am only too happy to live in ignorance.”

“But you still think it’s creepy I can see the future,” she teased.

“Oh, undoubtedly,” he chuckled. “For what it’s worth, though, I do trust you.”

“Thanks, Cullen,” she replied, touched.

When she returned to the rotunda, Solas was seated on one of the many sofas Josephine had thoughtfully provided for them. He raised his eyebrows at her as she entered, but she only smiled at him in return. Debating whether to read for a while or not, she eventually settled on getting a good night’s sleep. Her cot was more comfortable than the bedroll she’d been using, but Josephine had assured her that her actual bed was to arrive by the end of the week.

Resting her head on the pillow, she pushed away all thoughts of the future, and drifted off into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think the Inquisitor would have been appointed immediately after they arrived at Skyhold. It would have taken some time to sort stuff out, and clean up, before they could move to that.


	54. There's A Reason One Should Stay Out Of The Dread Wolf's Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas has his eye on the seeress... for more than one reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

**POV Solas**

He walked down the stairs, intending to study the walls to start planning out the mural he’d offered to paint. He still wasn’t sure why he’d made the offer - it had occurred to him too late that his knowledge of the technique could draw suspicion. No, he corrected himself. It _would_ draw suspicion, especially from the ruby haired woman who was seated at the large desk in the center of the room. He would have to come up with a solution. Perhaps if he framed it in a manner that would garner sympathy from the others, she would not press him about it? 

He studied her quietly. She was engrossed in whatever she was doing, making notes in a journal, occasionally referring to a book she had by her side. She had kept herself occupied since their arrival at his old fortress, so much so he had barely caught a glimpse of her over the past two weeks. It bothered him, though he’d never admit it, that she hadn’t seemed to miss him. She did not look as though she thought wistfully of him. Of course not, he chuckled to himself. She hardly seemed the kind. She was the type that had been forged in fire, and tempered by grief and loss. _Little wolf_ , she'd been called by The Iron Bull, and, well. He could see it, could he not? That proud tilt to her head, the intelligence in her eyes. The fierceness in her limbs as she fought. Oh yes, she was a wolf, through and through... _his_ wolf.

She put her legs up on the table, and picked up the book she had been referring. Watching her read was fascinating. Her face was furrowed intently in concentration. If something she read troubled her, she would worry her lip with her thumb. He nearly groaned when the action drew attention to the fullness of her mouth. When she came across a particularly tough paragraph to understand, she would tug at her earlobe impatiently, causing the small jewelled studs that adorned her ear to wink playfully in the light. He’d never been particularly attracted towards women with multiple piercings... but he couldn’t help wondering if she’d gotten as many as she had because her ears were sensitive. 

A theory he dearly wanted to test.

A spark of arousal flared in his core as he noted the way the torchlight bounced off her hair, which for once had been left loose, and tumbled carelessly down her back. He stepped back into the shadow of the stairwell as she raised her arms over her head and stretched. He could see the tiredness on her face. She closed her eyes briefly, yawned, then went back to whatever she was doing.

He had to admit to himself that she was a remarkable woman. The courage she had displayed at Haven drew his admiration. She defended those she considered as her people, even at the risk of death. Her planning had been meticulous and subtle, but effective. He’d come to realize that most things that she did had some purpose to them, and he found himself impressed... and _very_ curious.

His mind flew back to their conversation at Haven, when he’d tried to get her to open up to him. A flare of annoyance welled up in him when he recalled how she’d reacted to the knowledge he was attracted to her. How she had guessed he wasn’t usually drawn to her kind was beyond him, but the fact that she was using it to deny her attraction to him was irritating. It was true that he’d never looked at human women in that manner; it wasn’t that they were unattractive by any means, but the humans he’d encountered were placid, happy and set in their ways, content with what they knew. They had no thirst for knowledge, no desire to expand their experiences. But not all of his kind had felt the same way; the elvhen of his time considered humans to be exotic, and several of the Evanuris had kept them as pets. His mouth twisted as he recalled Falon’din’s particular fascination for her kind. Ghila’nain, too, had been curious about the humans, often experimenting on them cruelly to see if their external differences with his kind extended to flesh as well. Mythal had been mostly indifferent, but she had protected those who sought shelter in her lands. At a price, of course. There were few humans who dared venture into elven lands, but those that did, and were allowed to live, were branded by vallaslin, the markings usually running down the length of their bodies instead of being limited to their faces, like the elves’ had been.

If Samarra had existed during his time, she would have been hunted relentlessly from the moment she was spotted, even if she were outside elven territory. She was beautiful, graceful, elegant and fiery, made even more so by the fact that she was unaware of it, and each of the Evanuris would have wanted to claim her for themselves. She would have been a trophy, one proudly bandied about and put on display, taught to perform tricks on command... and more, were Falon’din, or June, or even Andruil her captors. Would he have chased her? he wondered. Most certainly he would have, though not in the way the others would have. They would have sought to break her down, either by bribing her with riches and shiny trinkets, or with magic and physical violence as had been their norm. The woman before him had no need for material wealth, though she enjoyed them if they came her way. What she craved for, with a hunger that rivaled his own, was knowledge. He would have baited and lured her using that hunger. He would have tempted her with ideas, bribed her with books, used her thirst to draw her closer to him… much as he was doing now, he acknowledged with a smirk. And it seemed to be working. He’d asked her to trust him as they faced the behemoth in Haven. “Implicitly,” she’d replied, and for a moment it felt like a victory of sorts.

He had not been surprised that she had been able to detect the magic around Skyhold. How much power the marks on her arm held was a mystery even to him. But what had astounded him was her intuition that the Veil had been created there. How had she known? Had she learnt it from the Fade? If so, that was a worrisome prospect. He’d failed in his attempts to pinpoint her location in the Fade, was only able to keep tabs on her when she voluntarily joined him. But she wouldn’t have had much opportunity, not with all their lessons. Perhaps her mentor, then? Just what did he know about this mysterious mentor who claimed to be from another world? He wished he could have met this mentor of hers. Clearly, the woman had been remarkable, and had imparted a wealth of information to her. He made a mental note to ask his agents to find out more about this mentor. They were already ordered to find out all they could about Samarra, but it had been surprisingly difficult - there were several villages near Ayesleigh, and many of the seers had taken in orphans. Though he considered her to be one of a kind, clearly the humans in the settlements she'd claimed to hail from had not felt the same way. Still, there was a promising lead. One of his agents had spoken to someone who had apparently mentioned something about a cursed child, though no one knew what had become of her. He scoffed. She was not cursed, not by any means. Samarra was sharp, absorbing information and knowledge like a sponge and making the connections no one else thought to do. He’d been filled with pride at her deduction as to the origins of the Veil - that this woman he’d chosen to hunt was _worthy_ \- and a deep hunger had settled over him, an urge to claim her before another could.

And others _would_ try for her affections. The large Qunari was already sniffing around her, seeking out points of weakness. She didn’t seem aware of the fact that The Iron Bull was studying her closely - too close for his liking. He could see Blackwall was drawn to her, but kept his distance because he was wary of her - although, he noted with some disgust, Samarra certainly seemed to be trying to get the man to relax around her. He had been worried about her relationship with Dorian, but he’d observed the Tevinter mage gazing lasciviously at some of the men, and had concluded, with no small amount of relief, that the man posed no danger to his pursuit of Samarra. If anyone could have been a risk, it would have been Dorian. The man was attractive and intelligent, and he’d observed with a great deal of resentment how freely they were able to converse. The soldiers and villagers lusted after her, but were too afraid of her - and the leadership of the Inquisition - to make a move, or even think to.

She was _not_ for them. She was not for _any_ of them. He had already decided that, had known it from the moment Helena had given him the message from his self in the alternate future. He'd searched the Fade and his memories for more about her, seeking more knowledge on the mark she bore, trying to understand why he was so drawn to her. It had not brought him much information, but of one thing he was certain.

She was **his** _fen’leal_. She was the light to his darkness, and he would _destroy_ anyone who sought to take her from him. She would help him restore his People, set right his wrongs. They would work together to bring down the Veil, restore this land to its former glory. He would just have to find a way to convince her to join him. He did not think it would be difficult. She was an intelligent, logical person. He could reason with her...

He noticed that she had fallen asleep, her head drooping backwards on the chair. Shaking his head, he walked over to the table, passing a casual gaze over her notes. To his surprise, he found he could not make any sense of them. They were written in a script he was entirely unfamiliar with. He looked at the book she used as a reference. He recognized it as Varric’s Tales of the Champions. Why would she need to refer to it? What did her notes mean? Where had she learnt the script?

It frustrated him that for every new thing he learned of her, he uncovered ten other mysteries.

He lifted her gently, cradling her in his arms, and carried her up to her room. He placed her gingerly on the cot, and pulled the sheets over her. He looked around the room, lips quirking as he recognized several of the runes and wards on the walls and roof. They hadn’t been re-activated yet, and he wondered why. Either she had failed to notice them - which seemed unlikely - or she was waiting for the room to be set to rights before activating them. Which made sense. Activating the alarm wards at this point of time would only serve as a hindrance to the servants who would be bringing in the furniture.

It had thrilled him that she was the only one who had appreciated the design of his fortress. She’d fawned over every small detail, so much so that some people thought she was touched in the head. But she had recognized and celebrated the plumbing system - yet another mystery, where had she seen one before? - and intuitively sussed out how his fortress had been, in his times. Every plan she’d suggested was accurate, though the others had no means of knowing so. He wondered if the Eluvian that had been there in his times was still around. He would need to check. It would not do if this enchanting seeress stumbled across it. She was intelligent enough to uncover its secrets, might even be able to unlock it, and that certainly would not suit his plans.

In his time, it had neither been called Skyhold, nor _tarasyl’an tel’as_. His people had called it _ena’sa’lin panath'an_. It had been his military base, though not the only one, nor his largest. He had occupied it as general first, when he had served Mythal, and she had gifted it to him upon his ascension, one of the several residences he’d been afforded in her territories when he had joined the pantheon. When he rebelled against the rest of the pantheon, it had been used by his Sentinels, drawing up plans of attack and subterfuge.

And now, a human-lead Inquisition occupied it. How ironic. He had initially meant it for use for his agents, giving them a place where they could operate out of sight of the human’s eyes. But he had no qualms about leading Helena to Skyhold. If anyone would make worthwhile use of it, it was the brunette woman who bore his magic on her hand.

He’d be lying if his decision hadn’t been partially influenced by Samarra. She’d known he knew about this place. It made him wonder what else she knew about. What all did she keep hidden away in that fascinating mind of hers? The spirit of Compassion had hinted at it. Secrets and lies, the young lad had said. She’d not only known about Cole, but had known what he was, and what he could do, and had been worried that the lad would let slip her secrets.

Perhaps he could persuade Compassion to divulge some of what the spirit had seen in Samarra’s mind. He did, after all, get along quite well with the spirit himself.

He walked back down to the rotunda, gathering up the books. To his surprise, her journal wasn’t warded. She must have been entirely confident in the knowledge that the mystery script would be indecipherable. If he thought about it, it did seem like a kind of challenge, one he was sorely tempted to take up. He placed them by her side, curious to see how she would react. Would she accuse him of reading her journal? Would she thank him for bringing it to her safely? He could never quite predict how she would react, a fact that fascinated him. Oh, she was predictable in other ways, but she valued her privacy and fiercely guarded it, much like he did.

He returned to the rotunda, casting an eye over the bare walls, seeing in his mind’s eye the sketches he would draw on them. The rotunda had once been a private area for his… personal entertainment. He was brash, cocky and arrogant in his youth, and had always been ready to bed whoever caught his eye. The rooms were designed to accommodate his... _paramour de rigueur_. He chuckled softly to himself. Each of the rooms had been heavily warded with silencing runes... though at times they had not been of much help.

He really had been a cocky jackass.

It was immensely ironic then, that he was now occupying those same rooms. Even more so when he considered the fact that his prey was in the room facing his. He wondered if she would stumble across the wards in the room. Would she recognize them as his work? Would she be able to decipher their purpose?

Would she afford him the opportunity to test them out once more?

Yes, he decided. Whether she realized it or not, she _would_ eventually end up in his bed. He would make sure of it. He was a patient man, and he was experienced, even if he hadn’t had an opportunity to... practice... since his awakening. He hadn’t felt the need to, had been horrified and entirely turned off the... _tranquil_... that wandered the land.

But she. Ahh, now she was an entirely different matter now. He wanted her with a fierceness that astounded him. He wanted to learn, intimately, the planes and curves and angles of her body. He’d been afforded a glimpse of it, during the bathing mishap in the Hinterlands, and oh, the view had been spectacular. 

Her navel had been pierced, a tiny little gem winking in the sunlight, he remembered. And salivated at the memory.

Were he so inclined, he knew he could easily relieve his urges. He had received attention enough from the women at Haven, both elves and humans alike. He knew that if he gave even the slightest hint that he was interested, he could draw them to his bed.

He sat down on the chair she'd previously occupied, spreading out his notes across the table.

But why would he? It was akin to drinking a poorly-made wine when one had access to the finest vintage. It made no logical sense to do so.

He had trained her, worked with her, fought with her. He had taught her magic, had showed her how to cast spells and battle with staves. Now, he decided, it was time to teach her magic of an entirely different kind. He would draw her into the darkness, the wickedness of pleasure, introduce her to all the ways he could make her body sing.

And she _would_ sing for him. He would make sure of that.

And when the lesson was over, she would be absolutely and utterly ruined, thoroughly irredeemable, completely spoilt for anyone else.

But she would not _want_ anyone else.

Because she was _his_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Tarasyl'an tel'as - the place where the sky was held back
> 
> Ena'sal'in panath'an - the place where (we) battle (for) victory
> 
> * * *
> 
> [This is what happens after the Egg decides to introduce Fade-tongue. Ahem. It leads the mind to... places. Clearly I'm a fan of the Solas-is-an-ass club.]
> 
> I've been trying to find the right words to express my gratitude to all of you who read this story. While I appreciate [and welcome!] comments and kudos, just knowing that someone's taken the time to read what I write is a lovely thing. As a writer it's always on my mind to present a good story, and I'm always worried that something I write someday will inadvertently turn away readers. I hope that day never comes, or, if it should happen, that you'll allow me the chance to rectify my mistakes and grow from my errors. ♡


	55. A Wise Leader Is One Who Uses Their Power For The People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Herald to Inquisitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Okay, I'm going to ask you all to just _hold up_ a second here, because [annaddonovan ](http://annaddonovan.deviantart.com/art/The-Oracle-639105552?ga_submit_new=10%253A1476013525&ga_type=edit&ga_changes=1&ga_recent=1) made a sketch of Samarra and it's pretty amazing! I _freak out_ each time someone sends me a sketch, _you don't even know_.
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> * * *

“Hey, Varric,” she greeted him casually as she stepped into the newly-opened tavern. It was minimally furnished, but everyone inside seemed more interested in the fact that they had a place to hang out and relax than the availability of seating. A soldier graciously gave up his chair for her with a nod, and she smiled and thanked him. Pulling it up to the table where the dwarf was seated, she sat down, debating the how long it would take to battle the crowds at the bar to get a drink for herself.

She decided it would take too long, and instead swiped Varric’s mug, taking a sip of his ale. She grimaced. Dwarven ale was _definitely_ not for her. “What the shit is this piss you’re drinking, Varric?” she asked, horrified.

“You humans won’t know good dwarven ale if it was offered by Andraste herself,” he muttered.

“I know enough to know that this is complete crap,” she replied.

He sighed. “What do you want, Crimson? I’m trying to finish up a manuscript. Ever since my editor found out I’m still alive he’s been hounding me for a new one. I have shut that blighter up, and you’re interrupting me.”

“I like birds, Varric,” she said lightly. “I especially like the birds who can help.”

“So ask Leliana for a raven,” he retorted, his eyes hard.

She leaned in closer. “It’s time, Varric. You can’t put it off forever, and you know it. You know very well that the Hawkes are needed.”

His face was neutral. “I wish I could help, but I don’t even know where they are.”

“Bullshit, Varric. You can tell that to everyone else, and they’ll believe you, but don’t pull that crap on me. _I know you know_. I also know you’re scared of dragging them into this shit. Believe me, I understand, I do. _But they’re needed_. If you don’t get them here in time, _shit is seriously going to get seriously fucked up_.”

She took another sip of his ale, grimaced again, and set down the tankard. “You know very well they can help, Varric, and _why_. Like I said… it’s time for the birds to roost.”

She walked away, leaving behind a worried, irritated dwarf.

* * *

It had been two days since her meeting with the advisors, and there had still been no announcement made. Leliana had been more concerned with some missing scouts in the Fallow Mire, Josephine was busy arguing with the Chantry, who had wanted Helena to lead a service each morning ever since Chancellor Roderick’s glowing praise of the Herald’s actions at Haven (something Helena was adamantly against), Cullen was still preoccupied with calibrating the newly constructed trebuchets - which amused Samarra no end, and she wasn’t sure if she should disappoint the Commander by telling him there was a good chance he’d never have to use them at Skyhold - and Cassandra was trying to track down the rest of her missing Order, with little success, something Samarra was not going to touch with a ten-foot pole until the Seeker came to her for help. She knew Cassandra wouldn’t believe her if she told the Seeker the truth. As much as she would’ve liked to interfere - and possibly save a few Seeker lives - Cassandra needed to see things for herself. Her visions had showed her that telling the Seeker the truth did absolutely nothing, but it would cause Cassandra a great deal of heartache and guilt when she learned the truth for herself, so much so she abandoned all ideas of re-forming the Seekers, believing that she had failed them completely.

And Samarra knew just how much the Seekers meant to Cassandra, and she didn’t want the raven-haired woman so disheartened that she gave up on them entirely. As it was, she feared that Cassandra would come to know she’d known about Lord Seeker Lucius all along, and resent her for not doing anything to help the Seekers earlier. But what was she to do about them? She had no idea who the others were, or where they were at this moment.

In any case, well, she’d been busy setting up the new infirmary. Clean, comfortable cots lined the length of the floor, fitted with fresh new linens. Shelves had been stocked with bandages and towels generously donated by the nobles. Tables meant for alchemical purposes were spread out and held mortars-and-pestles, herbs, and other components essential for potion making. There had been many people injured during the fall of Haven, and while the mages - and her healers - had done their best to aid those more severely injured, there were still those recuperating from minor injuries, and Samarra decided it was time that the newly-recruited healers begin their training. Instead of teaching the basics herself, she put the other four in charge, each of them in charge of eight rookies. She requested Solas’ help in training the mages in healing spells, something he had been only too glad to do. It was her hope that they would have at least twenty mage healers by the time the events of Adamant came around.

She’d also spent a great deal of time experimenting by herself, trying to come up with an alternative to lye - which was effective, but a little on the harsh side, especially since the concept of disposable rubber gloves was unheard of. By a stroke of luck, she’d discovered that by mixing a solution of soda ash and a solution of regular salt in equal volumes, and then placing the vessel over an electricity rune, she could make bleach. That had been the highlight of her week. She’d explained excitedly to the healers what it meant - that it was a better, more gentle disinfectant than the lye they had been using, She taught them how to make it - since it used a rune, even the non-mages were easily able to produce it in mass quantities. She met with the head housekeeper, the head chef, and horsemaster Dennet, and insisted that they use the substance whenever they went about their cleaning duties. They trusted her opinion on sanitation, even if they considered her slightly kooky, and agreed to do so.

She wanted to experiment more, but she needed Dagna’s help. Only the expert arcanist could help her with the equipment she needed. She wished someone would hurry up and get the ball rolling. Only after Helena was made Inquisitor would the matter of recruiting Dagna come up.

_Or perhaps… they need a little bit of a push? I mean, Harritt’s already settled down in the forge. The sooner Dagna gets here, the sooner they can craft the good stuff - the masterworks. OH CRAP! The Black Emporium! I totally forgot about the Black Emporium! That’s it, let’s go and have a little chat._

So when the advisors and Helena met for their daily pre-lunch meeting, she created quite a stir by requesting to speak first. “I know this is out of character,” she said with a smile, “but there is something I think will be of interest to you. Have you heard of the Black Emporium?”

Leliana and Cullen gave a start. “The antique store supposedly headed by an immortal man? Most say it is a myth,” Leliana said, her eyes sparking with curiosity.

“It is not a myth,” she replied with a smile. “You will find it in Kirkwall. Ask Varric for help - it’s well hidden away in Darktown. You must gain access to it. The schematics the Antiquarian offers are well worth the coin he charges.”

Leliana made a note, while Josephine blanched when trying to imagine how much the schematics could cost.

“Anything else?” Helena asked.

“Yes,” she said. “One more thing. If you’re going to get the schematics, you’ll need someone truly gifted at crafting. Dagna, daughter of Janar of the Smith caste. I have seen her, and she is one of the greatest minds in Thedas. You will find her in Tantervale. She is the arcanist we need.”

“A dwarf as an arcanist? But they cannot even perform magic!” Cullen commented, confused.

“I’ve heard of this woman,” Leliana said slowly. “She has a reputation for humbling first enchanters in both the Andrastrian and Imperial circles. Tantervale, you say? It will be difficult to smuggle her out of there. Chantry law in Tantervale is all but absolute, and the city guard likes nothing more than enforcing the rules rigidly.”

“That is where you come in, Leliana,” Helena commented. “If Samarra says this Dagna person is going to be of great help, we should definitely get her to Skyhold. Besides, the guards can only bar passage if they know she’s there, yes?” The brunette gave the spymaster a sly smile.

“I will see what I can do,” the Nightingale murmured. “Rest assured, however, we will have her in Skyhold within two weeks.”

“You will not be disappointed,” Samarra promised. “The woman’s a genius.”

“If that is all…?” Josephine asked.

“There will be a small ceremony this afternoon,” Cullen said, exchanging a look with the spymaster. “Something small, to get everyone officially settled into Skyhold. We’d like the two of you to be there. Cassandra will meet with you when it’s time, Herald.” _Fucking finally. It’s about damn time they got the Inquisitor thing laid out. Especially since Helena’s going to have to travel to the Mire in like a week._

Helena looked confused, but nodded, and the meeting ended soon after.

* * *

The sun was bright but not harsh when she reached the courtyard. Already, the people were gathered around, whispering to each other and trying to figure out what was happening. Leliana materialized at her side, and lead her up the flight of stairs that lead to the Great Hall of the main Keep. They stopped at the platform placed midway on the stairwell. Samarra spied a large, ornately-decorated case on a stand next to Josephine. She gave it a curious look. In the game, the sword had seemingly materialized out of nowhere, but clearly it had come from somewhere, and clearly it wasn’t just _any_ sword, it was one that held some amount of significance.

Leliana spotted her looking at it. “It belonged to Emperor Kordillus Drakon. He founded the Chantry, and he merged the first Inquisition with it. You might not know this, but the first Inquisition became part of the Chantry, as the Seekers of Truth and the Templar Order. When Emperor Drakon died, his son gifted his his prized sword to the Chantry. It has served as a symbol of the Inquisition ever since.”

_Ahh yes, the man who was responsible for the creation of the Chantry, the one who made the old human tribes to forcibly convert to Andrastrianism under the threat of death. What a stand up guy. Although he did unite the south. And I guess he was right about the Great Game. Oh well. Can’t lambast the man. He’s not black and white._

“Fascinating,” she replied when she realized Leliana was waiting for a reaction.

She watched as Helena and Cassandra approached them. 

“He came for the Anchor, and now it’s useless to him, so he wants me dead,” Helena said, exasperated. “That’s it.”

Cassandra sounded uncharacteristically calm. “The Anchor has power, but it’s not why you’re still standing here,” she began.

“I’m standing here because Samarra helped me!”

The Seeker ignored her protests. “Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are the creature’s rival because of what **you** did, and we know it. All of us.”

Samarra heard the sound of a sword being unsheathed, and turned around to find Leliana removing Drakon’s Sword of Mercy from its case, holding it out towards the Herald as the two women approached them.

“The Inquisition requires a leader,” Cassandra commented with a rare smile. “The one who has _already_ been leading it.”

She could see Helena’s panic as the brunette observed the entirety of Skyhold’s populace gathered in the lower bailey.

“It’s unanimous?” Helena sputtered. “You all have that much confidence in me?”

Samarra stepped forward, having been prodded lightly by Leliana. “All of these people have their lives because of you. You closed the Breach. You bought them enough time to flee to safety. We have every confidence in you, Helena.”

“Carrying the burden of command will always be a struggle,” Cassandra added. “There is no faith without doubt, yet I believe this is the only path before us. There would be no Inquisition without you. How it will serve, how you lead: that must be yours to decide.”

Helena hesitated for a brief moment, before a look of determination fell over her face. She gripped the hilt of the greatsword tightly, and raised the blade to her face. Finally, she turned to the crowd, a fierceness shining from her. “OUR CONCERN MUST BE THE ORDER AND SAFETY OF THIS WORLD, NOT THE NEXT." The Herald’s voice rang out, loud and clear and full of absolute confidence. "I’m NOT CHOSEN. I **HAVE** CHOSEN, AND I **WILL** LEAD US TO VICTORY!” she roared.

“Wherever you lead us,” Cassandra vowed with complete sincerity. The Seeker moved to stand next to Helena. “Have our people been told?” she bellowed.

“They have,” Josephine answered proudly, her voice clearly heard even over the murmurs that rippled through the crowd. “And soon, the world,” she declared.

“Commander! Will they follow?” Cassandra questioned.

Cullen stepped to the forefront. “ **INQUISITION!** ” he boomed out, “ **WILL YOU FOLLOW?** ”

Thunderous cheers rang through the air.

“ **WILL YOU FIGHT?”**

The voices grew louder. Samarra could feel the pride, the sincerity, the hope, the faith of every person gathered in the lower bailey, could feel the magic that had seeped into the stones of the fortress begin to buzz with the amount of emotion in the air.

**“WILL WE TRIUMPH?”**

It seemed impossible, but the voices grew louder. Fists were raised into the air, Finally, the iconic part of the Commander’s speech came around, and Samarra watched with bated breath and wide eyes, her heart hammering away in her chest.

_**“YOUR LEADER. YOUR HERALD. YOUR INQUISITOR!!”** _

She nearly swooned from the sheer magnificence of it all. The magic hummed in the air around her, wrapping itself around her, searching, seeking something. It probed against her aura, curled up into her core, and she felt the warmth of it spread through her very being. It seemed that the ancient fortress was pleased with the events, and their new leader.

Helena triumphantly raised the sword into the air, and Samarra could hear the iconic music that had marked this moment in the game swell up in her head. She desperately wished she could share it with everyone, to share it with Helena, to gift the new Inquisitor the moment that she had enjoyed so often in the game.

Suddenly, there was a flash of light, and she could hear the music all around her. It stunned everyone, but they were soon inspired by it, and the cheering resumed. Samarra noticed that the air molecules around her were vibrating, and deduced that she had done something to cause the vibration of the molecules, thus causing the music to play. She had no clue how she’d done it though.

Which meant she probably needed to find Solas. 

She let the music play for as long as she could, then it stopped automatically when it reached its crescendo. Fiona, and the Inner Circle mages were staring at her with varied expressions; Fiona looked speculative, Vivienne looked suspicious (of course), Solas looked… like he always did, neutral and blank, and Dorian was intrigued.

The other mages just looked impressed. She’d settle for that. She was damn well impressed, too. If only she could now repeat it…

She slunk off into her room as quickly - and quietly - as she was able, not wanting to answer the questions that would inevitably arise. Frankly, as much as she liked magic, it was rather disconcerting to just randomly burst out with something new - with no knowledge of how it had happened! - every so now and then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always wondered how elven mage Inquisitors could raise that sword. They have such thin arms! I always end up picturing [this](http://championsandheroes.smackjeeves.com/comics/2200483/her-noodly-appendage/) in my head, lol.


	56. *How Can A Villain Be So Irresistable?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What _is_ Solas up to?  
>  _Mildly NSFW._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency - Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> This chapter features a tune from the game. Here's [The Wrath Of Heaven](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C-7qJDDL_sU) if you want to listen to it!
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> **A quick note**[Chapter 41 ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7052848/chapters/17996008) has been updated with artwork! It features Future Samarra, drawn by the lovely [annaddonovan ](http://annaddonovan.deviantart.com/art/Don-t-do-red-lyrics-kids-639426385?ga_submit_new=10%253A1476143925%22) [thank you, Anna!]
> 
> * * *
> 
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> **One last thing** [I promise!] I have a [Tumblr](http://roguelioness.tumblr.com/) now, apparently. I'm still learning how to use it, but, uhhh... I guess you can ask me stuff there, if you want to?
> 
> * * *

She sat on her bed, staring out at the mountains, and tried to make sense of what had happened. _Let’s see. What is sound, but vibrations that travel as waves through a medium? Clearly, there is air all around us, so air is the medium. Which means sound can be produced if I magically create vibrations amidst the air molecules._

_No duh, Captain Obvious. That isn’t the answer we’re looking for, though. How the heck did you manage to get the music that was in your head, to project and play out of your head?_

_That is the answer. Magic. Because I willed the music to play, I must have inadvertently pulled from the Fade and used my mana to take the song, and caused the appropriate vibrations in the atmosphere._

_Fine. If you think that’s how it works, why don’t you try again?_

_Why you gotta be such a skeptic?_

_I’m not. You need to test whether it was a fluke or not, right? I mean, if it’s not a fluke, then… oh what the heck. He’s already suspicious anyway, what does it matter if this adds to it?_

She closed her eyes and thought of another tune. She went back to her favorite: the Journey to Skyhold theme. Intuitively, she drew upon the Fade, and brought down some of its energy to her fingertips.

 _Play softly_ , she thought. The soft, gentle, slightly sad tune began playing, sounding reedy and beautiful in the silence of her room as it swelled to a low crescendo.

 _Louder_. The volume increased, but she made sure the sound was limited only to her room. She began to sway with the music, her fingers twitching as she sought a violin that wasn’t there.

 _Louder_. It was the orchestra section, the cello, the violin, the horn all melding together in beautiful, elegant symphony, sounding of faith and hope.

 _Louder_. The drums began, the bass causing the walls to vibrate. The drama of it poured through her, the determination, the defiance, the pride, the resolution. Finally, the explosive ending, and then… silence.

The sound of applause from the doorway had her turning so fast she fell out of the bed. “Solas,” she muttered, her face red. So engrossed had she been in trying out this new trick that she’d failed to notice him. “What are you doing here?”

“I was drawn to the sound of that beautiful tune,” he said with a small smile. “It is unlike any I have ever heard. Where did you learn it?” he asked inquisitively.

“That… that is one of the tunes that my mentor used to listen to,” she replied stiffly.

“You seemed to have gained a new ability as well,” he prodded. “I have not seen such magic since my travels in the Fade. A few of the ancient elves, I believe, had the ability you possess. They were known as _sulahn’venirelan_ , and were greatly favored by Mythal and Sylaise.”

“Fascinating,” she muttered, studiously avoiding his gaze.

“How did you come to learn it?” he questioned.

‘I don’t know how I did it. One minute the music was in my head, and the next, it was ringing through the air.” she said. It was the truth… _mostly_ the truth. She didn’t think he needed to know that she had _wanted_ to share the music with everyone. “I figured everyone would want to question me, so…” she shrugged.

One look at his face told her he knew she wasn’t telling him the whole story. _Bah, who cares. We’re both liars, Solas, in different ways, for different reasons. You have your secrets that I’ll try to ferret out, and you’re doing the same to me, aren’t you?_

“Is that why you’re hiding here?” he inquired smoothly.

“I suppose so, yes.” she gave him a half-smile. “I’m not a huge fan of questions.”

Whatever he wanted to say was cut off. “SAMARRA!” a voice echoed from the rotunda below them. _Dorian_. She winced as she heard his footsteps on the stairs. He was going to interrogate her relentlessly, she just knew it. “I know you’re up there!” he called out.

“I’m here,” she called out, resigned.

He appeared then, with a swish of the robes he reserved for special occasions. _Huh. Guess the Inner Circle must have been informed of Helena’s appointment before she was. Yikes, it would have been so embarrassing if she’d refused._ She smiled to herself.

“You’ve been keeping secrets from me again,” the Tevinter mage tut-tutted.

“We all have our secrets, Dorian,” she grinned.

“Wherever did you learn that marvellous trick, woman? You must teach me! Do you know what this means? There’s so much of Tevinter music I want to share with you!” he exclaimed in excitement.

“As I was just telling Solas,” she gave the elf a deadpan look, “I have no idea. One minute the song’s in my head, the next it’s blaring out for the entire world to hear. Zero idea as to how that happened.”

“Have you been able to replicate it?” he questioned, sounding more scientifically curious than merely inquisitive. Scientific interest she could handle. Scientific curiousity she welcomed. Dorian’s eagerness was so much different than Solas’ almost predatory interest.

“Yes,” she said. “I still don’t know _how_. It seems to be entirely intuitive. I can sense a ripple in the Fade, and I can feel my mana pulsing, but the exact process is a mystery to me.”

“Would you mind playing something, Samarra dear?” Dorian gave her a puppy-dog look. “For experimental purposes?”

She rolled her eyes and nodded, and wracked her brain for a suitable piece. She settled on the piece of music that opened up the game - the piece that accompanied The Wrath of Heaven. The low, ominous, foreboding yet bewitching tune played in the air. She let it play it in its entirety, her eyes shut as she pictured the scenes from the game in her head. They were interspersed with the memories of the reality she’d faced when she’d found herself in Thedas, and soon her emotions were all tangled up in each other. The piece was long, but entirely worth it, judging by the looks on the their faces when she snuck a peek. They came to sit by her, and Solas even closed his eyes as he listened to the music.

When it ended, they both looked astounded. “You carry such wondrous things in your head, Samarra. It’s a pity I can’t just waltz in there and take a look. You will continue to play music for us, yes? Say you will,” he pleaded. “That was by far the loveliest tune I’ve heard, even if it was rather dark and forbidding.”

“Yeah, okay, fine,” she said. “Were you able to figure out how I did it?”

“Not quite. It seems to be, as you said, an intuitive process. There’s a shift in the Fade, and I could feel you drawing from it, but what happens after that remains a mystery to me.”

“Huh,” she remarked. “That sucks.”

“It does,” he agreed. “Maybe with repeated performances we will be better able to understand it.” He gave a sideways look. “One last tune, perhaps, before I leave for the tavern?”

She chuckled, and swatted his arm. “And why would I do that?” she teased.

“Because you know you find me absolutely irresistable, _mea cara_ ,” he joke-flirted.

“Fine,” she chuckled. She didn’t look at Solas. “But only because you _are_ rather magnificent.” She treated him to the Journey to Skyhold theme - she could see everyone getting thoroughly fed up with it in the future - and watched, pleased, as he enjoyed the music.

“How absolutely delightful,” he declared after it had ended. “You, my dear, are an enigma, albeit the prettiest one I’ve ever encountered.” He kissed her cheek in thanks, an innocent one, but because Solas was present, she flushed. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

“I don’t think so,” she declined politely. “I’m going to curl up here and do some reading. It’s been quite a rough week,” she gave him a slight grin.

“Ordinarily, I would argue with that decision, but you do look like you could use a night off,” he agreed. “Enjoy yourself. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” he added with a wink.

“Go on, then,” she shooed him off with a smile.

When she finally turned to face Solas, she found his face serene. Eerily so, in fact, much like the calm before a storm. “So,” she commented casually, “were you able to deduce anything? Any idea as to how it worked?”

“Yes,” he replied equally casually.

“Oh?” she raised her brows. Somehow, she didn’t think he was referring to her newly-discovered ability. There was something else on his mind, and… she was simultaneously eager to know what it was, and apprehensive as to what it could be.

“Indeed,” he said, taking one step, then another towards her. With a flick of his fingers, the door slammed shut, and she found herself stuck between his form - his very solid, very masculine, _very predatory_ form - and the wall.

“What do you think you’re doing, Solas?” she asked, trying to ignore the quaver of nervous excitement in her chest.

“You asked if I was able to deduce something from… this experiment. I merely intend to demonstrate my findings,” he uttered calmly, taking yet another step towards her.

She tried to move away from her disadvantaged position, but his hands shot out on either side of her shoulders, effectively boxing her in. She hissed, ready to give him a piece of her mind, when she caught a glimpse of his face.

And saw those same, feral eyes she’d once seen in Haven, thin rings of silver around a black iris.

She gulped as a thread of arousal slithered through her. “Look, I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play here, but I don’t appreciate-”

He captured her lips then, fierce and possessive, tasting of desire, of greed, of _sin_. His mouth was wicked, and it did equally wicked things to her body, causing her magic to rise up in a flood to rest just beneath her skin. He bit down on her lip, not gentle by any means, but she _shuddered_ as it ignited her nerves.

Her grasp on logic and rationale became tenuous as she felt herself slide deeper into the pleasureable darkness. Her mind slowed, and threatened to stop functioning altogether. Some part of her remained aware, and warned her this was a terrible idea. She couldn’t fall for the wolf! Grabbing at the few strands of sanity that remained, she brought her hands up to her chest and began to push him away from her.

He _growled_ against her lips, the sound primal and menacing, and grabbed her hands with his. Raising them up over her head, he kept them pinned there, and pressed closer to her. She was surrounded, overwhelmed even, by his heat, by his scent, and they were quickly washing away the last vestiges of her defenses. 

He nipped at her again, this time running his tongue over to soothe, and she moaned helplessly. He took advantage of it and plundered her mouth, sliding his tongue against hers. Lost in the pleasure, she hardly realized what she was doing, raising a leg to hook around his waist and pulling him into the gap between her thighs. This was insanity, the kind that lead to the ruination of good men and women, but at that moment, with that wicked, **wicked** mouth of his on hers, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

A knock on the door jolted her back to her senses. “My lady?” a tentative voice called out. “I have your dinner.”

She stared at him, breathing heavily, her heart racing in her chest. He was similarly affected, his face displaying displeasure at the interruption.

“A moment,” she called out softly, and tugged at her pinned wrists. He let go of them, albeit with a small measure of reluctance, and moved away from her. Picking up one of the books she had scattered across the room, he pretended to thumb through it.

She smoothed back her hair and straightened her clothes. She knew her lips would be swollen, but there was nothing she could do about it. She opened the door firmly, and gave the curious woman a wide smile. “Thank you,” she said as she took the tray from the woman. “Lenora, isn’t it? How are your children doing?” she asked. Immediately, the woman’s face broke out into a smile. “Very well, my lady. That mage lady in the infirmary healed them up, quick as you please. Now they run about the fortress and cause me no end of worry. Ser Blackwall’s promised to make them swords, and they spend time with him now. That man’s a blessing. Keeps all the children entertained. There aren’t many like him around, not these days.”

“If Blackwall’s keeping them entertained, you can be sure they’ll behave,” she replied with a smile.

Lenora turned slightly pink. _Oooh, does she have a bit of a crush on the bear-man?_ “He’s got a good, stout heart in him. It’s a wonder he hasn’t found a good woman to settle down with. Though I suppose being a Grey Warden would make it difficult.”

“Yes, it would be a hard life being on the road all the time.”

Leonora sighed wistfully. 

Samarra made polite conversation with the woman for a few minutes longer, then bid her good night, promising to leave the empty tray outside her door instead of her usual habit of returning it to the kitchens herself.. Once the woman had left, she quietly shut the door, and placed the tray on the table. She touched her lips. As she’d suspected, they were indeed swollen, and the lower one was throbbing. Walking over to the vanity, she examined herself in the mirror. To her dismay, her lips were not just swollen, but they were a lush red, leaving an observer in no doubt as to what had caused it..

Tomorrow, everyone would likely know that she’d been kissing the elven apostate.

The _last_ thing she wanted - or needed - was more gossip about her. _This_ was why she needed to stay away from him. He made her forget herself. He was a danger to her, and a complication she could not afford. She couldn’t afford to develop feelings for him beyond friendship. This wasn’t the game. Here actions had very real consequences, and she had no idea what the consequences of getting into a relationship with the Dread Wolf would be for her - aside from the inevitability of having her heart broken. And she _did not_ want that. He’d broken it too many times in the game as it were.

“What the fuck was that about?” she spat angrily. “How dare you?”

He turned to face her calmly, but there were still traces of the wild animal in his eyes, and they darkened again when he caught sight of her swollen lips. His lips curled into a smirk. “I believe I was not alone, Samarra. You were a willing participant. You found it pleasurable, seeress, judging by what I can see in the depths of your eyes - why do you deny it?”

She snarled. It wasn’t the wisest thing to do when faced with a predator, but she was angry. “The kiss was impulsive, and ill-considered, and I certainly should not have encouraged it. But what gives you the right to just…” she flung her hands into the air, “force yourself on me like that?”

“ _Force myself onto you_?” Oh, shit, he really was angry now. “Is that what you think?” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him. She struggled against him, but he refused to let go, instead tightening his grip on her. “You _enjoyed_ that as much as I did, but you refuse to let yourself admit it.” He gripped her waist tightly, aligning her hips with his. “Fool yourself all you want, but do not _dare_ lie to me,” he hissed. “I _will not_ tolerate it.” he whispered fiercely into her ear. “Now,” he continued, his tone commanding, “apologize.”

The order aroused her, a small rush of wetness staining her smalls at the command in his tone. Her body’s betrayal incensed her. _How fucking dare he?_ “Solas, you can fuck right off. I’m not going to apologize.” She half-expected her refusal to further infuriate him, but she was taken aback when he chuckled instead. He let go of her waist, and brought his hand up to her face, rubbing her reddened lips with his thumb. 

She wouldn’t admit that it sent sparks flying, but damn him, _damn him_ , he _knew_ , judging by that smug smile on his face.

“This look suits you well,” he commented placidly. “It does add a certain… charm… to your face.”

She broke free of his grip and moved away from him, examining it in the mirror once more. “I beg to disagree. But no matter, I can take care of it myself, don’t you worry,” she said dismissively.

“That would not be a wise idea, _da’assan_ ,” he softly said, a warning in his tone. “Should it disappear I will be forced to replace it.” Though it was likely meant as some kind of threat, it sounded more like a _very_ enticing proposal, and for a moment, she actually found herself considering it before coming to her senses.

“I’ll do as I damn well please, Solas.” she ground out. “Now, if you would kindly get the fuck out of my room, that’d be great.”

He moved to stand behind her. Her eyes met his in the mirror. There was a certain intimacy to their position; it reeked of a familiarity that shouldn’t exist, as though they had stood this way thousands of times before in the past. It made her uneasy, and she made to turn away from their reflections.

His hands on her shoulders stopped her. She watched, wide-eyed, as his mouth lowered to her ear. “Let. It. Be,” he crooned, and left her room, leaving her standing, shaken, in front of the mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> [elven] Sulahn’venirelan - Masters of song
> 
> [tevene] Mea cara - My dear
> 
> * * *
> 
> I guess that the hunt's begun. Ruh-roh...


	57. Back To Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the new and improved war room!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> More Samarra art! This time from [ auntyelsadraws](http://auntyelsadraws.tumblr.com/post/151640496336/samarra-from-this-incredible-ao3-dragon-age) on tumblr. So pretty!
> 
>   
>    
> 

To her relief, there were no questions or sly remarks directed at her the next day. She steadfastly did her best to avoid Solas, going so far as to change up her meal times. She wasn’t sure she was ready to face him yet. She didn’t know what to do.

She had no idea what game he was playing. Twice now he had kissed her, and both times it had been intense. It confused her, and worried her, because she was so drawn to him. It would be so easy to just give in to the… heat… between them, to give in to his demands. She’d told him she wasn’t interested, but he still persisted in… _hunting_ her, as though he’d _known_ she was lying about her lack of interest in him. There was no other word for it. It was a hunt. It had started in Haven, the sly brushes of his magic against hers, leaving her constantly aware of him - although she tried her best to hide it. And now it seemed as though he intended to continue his pursuit of her at Skyhold, too. 

She wasn’t sure what to make of it, wasn’t sure what to think. What was worse was that she could not talk about it to anyone, even those she considered her friends. She already knew Helena was rooting on them ending up together - seriously, that woman had the most romantic heart she’d seen - and Dorian would probably just tell her to bed Solas and get it out of her system.

The fact that she was actually contemplating Dorian’s advice had her seriously debating over asking for a new room. The second courtyard had plenty of space, she knew, and Josephine wouldn’t mind setting her up there.

But _goddammit_ , she loved her room, with the views, the cozy feel of it, and the shower.

For a room, it also had a large number of silencing runes. They’d all been activated, of course, but she didn’t understand why a room would need so _many_ of them. Had this been a meeting room once? Perhaps for the generals? Even so, even if important, top-secret meetings were taking place here, why would anyone need more than five runes at the most? It wasn’t an enormous room, either. Eight silencing runes seemed overkill, especially given the size of the room.

She decided she needed to resume her training and practice sessions now that they were settling into a routine. There was a war table meeting later that afternoon, and Samarra suspected that it had to do with the scouts in the Fallow Mire. She made a note to ask Giles to prepare a crate of supplies; the scouts would be injured, and Samarra wanted to make sure Helena had the opportunity to stabilize them before bringing them back to Skyhold where she and the other healers could do more for them.

Because she was sure as hell not travelling to the Fallow Mire. Not with how many undead there were. She readily admitted to herself she was being a massive chicken, but the very idea of undead gave her the shivers - it was why she’d never been able to watch zombie movies. Plus, the place had always given her the creeps, even in the game. She didn’t need to experience it first-hand. Surely her absence wouldn’t be a big deal. Helena could handle the situation there by herself...

She tracked down Dorian in the library. He was loudly grumbling about the number of Chantry-related books displayed, whining about not having anything decent to read. Samarra agreed with him, but wished he would be patient. He did so love to complain!! Helena and Josephine had promised to get the mages all the books they wanted. Helena fully intended to keep the promise she’d made Samarra all those months ago - a well-stocked library in exchange for her attendance to Vivienne’s salon. Samarra wondered it were possible for her to make another trip to the Val Royeaux bookstore. It had been one of the most wonderous sights she’d seen in Thedas till date - excepting, of course, her first view of Skyhold. Bringing herself down to ~~earth~~ thedas, she walked over to where he was.

“Hey, Dorian?” she called out.

“Samarra! Can you believe this library? Not a decent book in sight, but if I wanted to know how many times Divine Galatea took a shit on any given Sunday I can find no less than five books that will offer that bit of information.”

“Yes,” she remarked wryly, “how dare the Inquisition, that’s just moved in and is in the process of recovering after a terrible catastrophe, not have any decent books. It’s downright criminal is what it is.”

“When you sound like that, my lovely, it’s hard to imagine you as anything _but_ a snappy little wolf.”

She narrowed her eyes and glared at him.

“Hey!” he raised his hands placatingly. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t come up with it. I just happen to agree with the horned beast.”

“I’m not any sort of wolf!” she hissed, exasperated.

“Uh oh, I sense a story here. Come on, tell papa Dorian everything,” he cajoled. “Why do you hate wolves?”

“Ugh.” she rolled her eyes. “I have nothing against wolves. It’s just such a silly nickname. How would you like it if I started calling you that?”

“Me? A wolf?” he sounded aghast. “Certainly not. I’m exotic, not a flea-bitten scruffy mongrel…”

“Well gee, thanks for that, Dorian,” she snarked.

He waved his hands dismissively. “You’d be one of those legendary alpha wolves, not the scrappy little ones.”

“And you’re just a preening peacock, aren’t you?” she teased. “Enough about wolves. Such a boring subject. I came here to ask you something, actually - I need a sparring partner, for practicing with my staff. Would you help me?”

“Do you even have a staff? I thought yours disappeared when Haven fell?” he questioned.

“No, Ashalle managed to salvage some of my things, bless her.”

“I thought you practiced with the elven apostate. What happened?” he asked, mustache quivering with curiosity. 

“We had… a disagreement. I’m not talking to him till he apologizes,” she explained shortly.

“What was the disagreement about?” he pried.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Are you going to help me, or what?”

“Oh, I will. I believe you owe me a chance for retribution. I’m only going to be too happy to use any opportunity to knock you flat on your bottom,” he declared cheerfully.

“Great! So, tomorrow morning?”

“Morning! What are we, barbarians? Absolutely not. We shall meet up in the evenings. I refuse to sacrifice my beauty sleep.”

She shook her head amusedly. “Fine, tomorrow evening then. See you by the training grounds.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, my lovely.”

* * *

They settled around the refurbished table. Samarra ran her hand over the wood almost reverentially, remembering that the tree it came from had once served as a symbol of peace between two factions, now long forgotten. The map that was spread out across the table was as large as the table itself. Tokens of various colors adorned the map, placed carefully to mark positions of the Inquisition’s forces.

There was a token for each of the Inner Circle members, a fairly accurate carving of every one of them, each a different color. The Ambassador’s tokens were bronze, two swords crossed to represent Ferelden, and a sun to represent Orlais. The Spymaster employed tokens shaped like ravens, with the color matching the birds. Cullen used what she thought were standard tokens for a commander - miniature figurines of warriors, archers… and to her surprise, even mages.

Helena’s token was a miniature figuring of herself holding up the Inquisition symbol, made of gold. She searched around the table to see if there was one for her; to her disappointment, she couldn’t find any. 

“I believe you are searching for this,” Leliana said amusedly, having observed her fruitless search. The spymaster placed the final token on the map next to the Inquisitor’s atop Skyhold; a carved miniature of her in mahogany red, her hair unbound and flowing down her back, a tiny crystal orb in one outstretched palm.

“That’s… wow. That doesn’t look anything like me,” she breathed. “Does it?”

Leliana rolled her eyes. “False modesty does you no justice,” she lightly scolded. “Did you think we would not have a token for you? There are some for your healers, too,” she added, pushing forth several cubes of deep green with an elfroot design painted on them.

“I still can’t believe I have a token,” she laughed, picking it up gingerly and examining it from all sides. She did the same with the Inner Circle tokens as well. Despite being the size of her index finger, the details could clearly be seen. She was impressed. “These are beautiful,” she admired.

Soon they were joined by Josephine, the ambassador having been delayed by the unexpected arrival of Marquis DuRellion, who was apparently demanding repayment of some sort for the destruction of Haven.

“Want me to scare him, Josie?” Samarra cheerfully said. “I can make up something about seven years of bad luck or something.”

“No, please,” the ambassador sighed. “I believe I can handle this. The marquis has no standing. He has no means of pursuing this should he choose to. Furthermore, Leliana has provided me with information regarding his financial status that would prove absolutely _ruinous_ were it to fall in the wrong hands,” she grinned. “If all else fails, however, I might take you up on your generous offer.”

Cullen cleared his throat, and they began the meeting. “Now that Skyhold seems to be up and running, it is time we resume our work,” he said gravely. “We know who was responsible for the Breach, and we have the barest of ideas what he plans to do.”

“But what do we do?” Josephine asked. “We know nothing about this Corypheus, save that he wanted the Inquisitor’s mark.”

“There are so many questions,” Helena murmured. “Could his dragon really be an archdemon?”

“We’ve seen no other sign of darkspawn other than Corypheus himself,” Leliana stated. 

Josephine seemed to agree. “Perhaps it’s not an archdemon at all, but something different?”

All eyes turned to her, and she shifted, slightly uncomfortably. “I do not believe it is an archdemon, but neither do I think it is a regular dragon,” she cautioned. “It looked as though it had been corrupted by red lyrium.”

“Maybe that is what it is,” Leliana looked thoughtful. “A corrupted high dragon, not an archdemon.”

“Whatever it it, it’s dangerous,” Cullen said bluntly. “Commanding such a creature gives him an advantage we can’t ignore.”

“Perhaps we should tame dragons of our own,” Samarra joked weakly. No one laughed.

Helena chewed her lip nervously. “He said that he wanted to enter the Black City, that it would make him a God,” she mumbled. “What does that mean for us?”

“He’s willing to tear this world apart to reach the next,” Leliana commented. “Will it matter if he is right or wrong?”

“Leliana is correct,” Samarra cautioned. “He will destroy this world in his zeal to gain access to the Black City.”

“What if he finds some other way to enter the Fade?” Cullen said worriedly.

“Then we must stop him before he can do so,” the spymaster calmly stated.

“Corypheus wants to restore Tevinter,” Josephine spoke up. “Would this be a prelude to a war with the Imperium?” she asked worriedly.

“I get the feeling we’re dealing with extremists, not the vanguard of a true invasion,” Cullen thoughtfully replied. “Perhaps our Tevinter mage could tell us more about this cult.”

“Tevinter is not the Imperium of a thousand years ago,” Leliana added. “What Corypheus seeks to ‘restore’ no longer exists.”

Josephine sighed. “Though they would shed no tears if the South fell to chaos.”

“I’d feel better if we knew more about what we were dealing with,” Helena huffed. “We know he’s planning to raise a demon army. Where? How? He’s planning to assassinate Empress Celene. How? When? So many questions, and we have so little information!” 

“I can try to use some of my contacts to investigate the Empress,” Josephine said.

“But there is a more pressing issue at the moment,” Leliana stated. “Several Inquisition soldiers and scouts have gone missing in the marshy reaches of southern Ferelden,” she continued, moving some tokens to a swamp area on the map. “Josephine contacted the local Bann, who sent out search parties. We’ve tracked them down to the Fallow Mire. They’re being held hostage by Avvar who demand to meet you, the Herald of Andraste, if we want to see out people alive again.”

“Okay,” Helena immediately said. “Let’s get a party out there as soon as we can. Leliana, when do you think we should head out?”

“Scout Harding has already set up a base camp there. Supplies are on their way. The decision is yours to make,” 

Samarra started. “Wait, Lace is already in the Mire?” Leliana nodded, confused. “Shit. Okay, let me tell you all that I’ve seen about the Mire. It’s, uhhh… got a problem.”

“A problem?” Leliana asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Yeah. _Don’t disturb the water_. Lots of undead.” she said simply.

“Undead?” Helena exclaimed. “Maker help me, what is going on?”

“The Mire was once a fishing village that fell to a devastating plague,” Leliana said speculatively. “Could that have anything to do with it?”

“Most likely, yes.” Samarra nodded. “The bodies weren’t burned, right? The Veil must be thin there, allowing spirits to slip through and possess the bodies. Regardless, Leliana, warn Harding.”

“Anything else?” Helena asked with a sigh.

“Uhhh…” The familiar tingling in her arm. The scene in her mind opened up to the Hidden Apostate camp in the Mire. She could see Apostate Widris pacing around nervously. Something seemed to have agitated her. A voice in Samarra’s head whispered _Laderelan’elgar. Atisha era’harel. Judirth’ish amelan lanasthas elgar’rogathe_. The scene then shifted to Widris arriving at Skyhold, still nervous, but happier.

_Wait, I’m supposed to bring an abomination back to Skyhold? Cullen will have my head!_

The others were looking at her expectantly. “Well?” Helena asked patiently.

“Okay, so, don’t kill me, but I had a vision,” she muttered. “Do we have a map of the Mire?”

Leliana pulled out a rough sketch of the area.

“Around this area,” Samarra stated, circling a region that was rocky, “you’ll find an apostate.” She cleared her throat. “Her name is Widris, and… uhhh… she’s an abomination.”

“You want the Inquisitor to kill her?” Cullen guessed. “I can send some templars to accompany her.”

“Nooooo,” she said slowly. “I, uhhh… want you to bring her back.”

There was pin drop silence, and everyone stared at her as though she had gone insane. “Don’t look at me like that!” she exclaimed defensively. “I’m telling you what my vision showed. Widris is a talented spirit healer… if we can just calm her down.”

“Calm her down?” Cullen burst out. “The mage is an abomination. The last time I came across an abomination, he blew up Kirkwall’s Chantry!”

She winced. _Dammit, Anders_. “Cullen, please, I know it sounds insane, but I swear to you I’m not lying. She’s not… she’s not a _bad_ abomination. She just needs some help. Look, I know it’s a crazy prospect, and if I hadn’t had that vision I would probably agree with you, but if she’s important enough for me to receive a vision about her, I can’t ignore it!”

“I will not have an abomination brought into Skyhold, and that is final. I will not risk the lives of our people here.” Cullen growled. “You have no idea what kind of havoc they can create. Abominations are monsters; they have nothing left of the mage, and I will not allow them in this fortress!”

“Cullen, I can’t help what my vision tells me! I care about the people here too! I wouldn’t put them at risk needlessly!”

“Perhaps if you could tell us exactly what was shown to you?” Leliana interjected smoothly.

Samarra sighed. “Widris is terrified. She’s been chased too many times by the templars. In desperation, she made a deal with a spirit of Courage, but her fear twisted the spirit… it’s not exactly a demon, but the spirit is corrupted. The vision showed that they needed to be calmed down. The spirit in her needs to hear that it is forgiven.”

“And miraculously, she ceases to be an abomination?” Cullen scoffed. “How convenient.”

“I can’t claim to understand why I receive the visions I do, but I cannot question their significance,” Samarra said quietly. “If Widris was shown to me, then it’s likely she will play a part in the future. I’m certain we would not be told to help her otherwise.”

Helena looked thoughtful. “I can’t fault your reasoning,” she finally said. “All your visions have been beneficial to us. However, neither can I, in good conscience, bring an abomination back to Skyhold. There seems to be only one compromise. I will do as your vision says, track this Widris down, and attempt to calm her. If it works, I will return with Widris. Otherwise, I will have no choice but to slay her.”

Samarra nodded, albeit a little unhappily. “Tell her exactly this - That the Keeper forgives her.” she said. “Don’t forget. The phrase seems to be important.”

Helena made a note. “What else?”

“Oh, umm, take Dorian. He will be helpful when facing the undead.”

“Anyone else?” Helena asked. 

Samarra grinned mischievously. “Lady Vivienne will absolutely _loathe_ the Mire,” she said cheekily. “Bull and Blackwall will come in handy when facing off against the Avvar. You’ll need an archer or two. Oh,” she added as an afterthought, “you might come across some runes. Solas will be able to help with those. Interesting runes, too,” she mumbled, almost to herself. “They looked pretty old.”

“You’ll come along?” Helena asked.

“Not if you offered me all the coin in Thedas,” she replied with a laugh. 

“Why not?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” she chuckled.

“What are you going to do, then?” the Inquisitor asked curiously.

“What I do best. Plot and plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Laderelan’elgar. Atisha era’harel. Judirth’ish amelan lanasthas elgar’rogathe - Spirit healer. Calm the demon mage/abomination. Tell the spirit of Courage that the Keeper grants her forgiveness.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Things are getting mysterious around here...
> 
> So, funny story time. So many of you are such talented artists, it inspired me to try my hand at it.
> 
> Let's just say it _did not_ go well at all... and brought back memories of me failing art in middle school. Sigh.


	58. Bribery, Books And The Blight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's... a lot of conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

She was settled in the tavern, surrounded by the Chargers save Bull and Krem. The game had only shown Skinner, Rocky, Stitches, Grim and Dalish, but there were two dozen Chargers - a good number for a mercenary group, she’d been told. She’d immediately hit it off with Dalish, who had been fascinated that Samarra was using an actual bow. They’d discussed various ‘bow’ options, and even come up with a tentative ‘bow with a crystal’ design - much to the amusement of the others, who teased them relentlessly.

Both Skinner and Dalish were curious as to why she was using a bow when she was a mage. She’d had to explain to them that in a fight, that every style gave her an advantage in a fight. Skinner was a fierce, bellicose dual-dagger wielding rogue, extremely short tempered and prone to starting a fight over the smallest of things. Their first meeting, the city elf had nearly shanked Samarra for ‘looking at her wrong’. The elf hadn’t appreciated being frozen by Samarra (to be fair, she really was just defending herself) but the others had laughed, and told Skinner to calm down.

Samarra had ended up with a lot of bruises from the friendly sparring match Skinner had challenged her to. But after that, the city elf mellowed towards her, and had even offered her some tips on maximizing the damage that could be done by daggers - all of which involved various forms of poison, which Samarra was still on the fence about. She did make it a point to make a note about studying up on antidotes, though.

She was still sad that Krem was taking so long to warm up to her. She got along well enough with the Tevint, but it was mostly polite conversation. Whether it had to do with her foresight or the man’s secret, she wasn’t sure. She’d had had to break up several arguments between him and Dorian - on one occasion Dorian had ended up with a broken nose - but for the moment, they seemed to have an uneasy truce, Dorian had stopped commenting so much on slavery, which Samarra appreciated. It made the mage infinitely easier to talk to.

She was also introduced to Drake, a two-handed warrior who had once accidentally stumbled into a nest of dragonlings. Judging by the burn scars that ran down his neck, he was lucky to be alive. Then there was Freemarcher, rumored to be the disowned son of one of Tantervale’s noble families. Butcher was only called that because he once ate an entire ram in one sitting - he was in actuality a very gentle soul, and was one of her favorites. Half Pint was the daughter of a dwarf mother and a human father - she’d been abandoned as a child, and had ended up in Denerim’s orphanage, where she’d been forced to learn how to use daggers to defend herself against advances from lecherous males. Embers was Rocky’s brother-in-arms, an expert with explosives who was working with Rocky to try and discover the secret of the Qunari _gaatlok_. He also had an unfortunate knack of starting fires entirely by accident - usually by knocking over torches, or candles, or braziers.

She had wanted to ask them if they knew about Bull’s job, but held back. Helena had informed her that the Chargers were aware of Bull’s connection to the Ben-Hassrath. But what Samarra wanted to know was how they felt about it.

She was well aware Bull was rooting around, trying to find out more about her. She hadn’t lied to him, or tried not to. There was no point in trying to lie to people who would know if she was lying… unless she wanted them to know she was lying. She’d just told him she was from Rivain, really didn’t want to talk about her past, and that whatever visions she received seemed to be restricted to the Inquisition.

He’d found out about her ‘mentor’, and had tried to get Stitches to get her to talk. She’d been willing to teach him at first, but then she overheard him reporting to Bull, and walked in on them to tear them both a new one. And then she’d kicked him out of her classes. Bull had had to apologize to her profusely before she agreed to help the healer once more.

Now she was conversing with the human - whose actual name was Richard - discussing about the various uses of embrium. 

“There’s this balm I make, that can heal sore muscles in a matter of minutes,” he bragged.

“You’re shitting me!” she exclaimed. “No way that’s possible.”

He nodded. “It is. Anytime anyone has a sore muscle, just slap it on, and before you know it, they’re back in the game.”

“Fascinating. How do you make it?”

“Well, it needs menthe, embrium, elfroot…”

“Shit. I don’t have my journal with me. Mind accompanying me to my room to get it? It’ll be easier to discuss this there, it’s quieter.”

“Sure,” he shrugged. “I’d like to know more about this local anaesthetic of yours. It would come in really handy. He doesn’t look like it, but Grim _hates_ getting stitches,” he chuckled.

“Oh yeah, of course.” 

They walked up the stairs to the great hall, and opened the door to the corridor leading to the rotunda. Samarra wasn’t surprised to find Solas hunched over one of the tables in the room, sheets of paper scattered carelessly about. It looked like he was beginning to outline the first of his murals on the wall.

“Solas,” she greeted him politely.

He raised his head, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of Richard. “Samarra,” he replied in kind, but his voice was icy.

They entered her room, and she pulled out several books on herbs. Richard whistled softly. “I’ve been wanting to read this one for ages,” he said, flipping through the _The Art of Alchemy_. “Would you mind terribly if I borrowed it?”

“No problem. Just take care of it, okay? I’m rather fond of my books.”

They traded recipes for potions and poultices and draughts and elixirs, and Samarra was pleasantly surprised to find that Stitches was well-read, and well-informed. His life on the road had given him a chance to learn, and soon they had moved from discussing healer-related matters, to him regaling her with tales of some of the wackier jobs they’d undertaken.

“So there we were, dressed in chicken feathers as we made our way through the tunnel. Turns out Skinner’s allergic to the damn things, so we finally had to take the damn things off her and try and treat her, but shit, it’s gone too far for me to do anything. By the time we got to the nobleman, he was in the middle of dinner. He started laughing when he saw Boss decked in the wettest feathers you can find, and then he catches sight of Skinner, whose skin is ridiculously red and full of boils, and he freaks out so hard he starts choking on a chicken bone. We were paid double for that gig,” he finished with a grin.

Samarra was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. “Poor Skinner,” she said at last.

“Yeah,” he grinned. “She refused to eat chicken for months after that.”

“I can totally get why,” she chuckled.

He looked outside her window. “Wow, it’s getting pretty late. I best be on my way. It was nice talking with you, Samarra. Maybe we can do it again?”

“Sure,” she agreed. “It was fun.”

“Great. I’ll see you around. Thanks for the book.”

“You’re welcome. Good night.”

She started to put away the books back in the shelves of the bookcase when she felt a prickling on the back of her neck. She was afraid to turn around, suspecting she knew who it was. When she could delay no longer, she turned around to find Solas glaring at her.

She raised her brows. “Can I help you?” she asked coolly.

He took a step into her room. Before he could shut the door behind him, she preemptively took action and froze it, preventing him from doing so. “Look, Solas, I’m not quite sure what you’re here for, but I do not want you in my room, so I’ll thank you to get out.” she said firmly.

He took another step in. “Or else what?” he challenged.

“Or else I’ll have to force you out,” she threatened. 

“You are welcome to try,” he grinned wickedly.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me have to move to a different room. I don’t want to, but I will if I have to.”

“And do you think that will keep me away from you?” he asked amusedly.

“This has to stop,” she muttered, and tried to brush past him. 

His hand latched onto her upper arm. “I was hoping you and I could discuss certain matters,” he said calmly, his face anything but. “We can do it civilly, or we can do it… in an entirely different manner. The choice is yours.”

“Let go of me,” she demanded. “And then we’ll talk.”

He obliged, and released her. It was alarming how much stronger than her he was, despite the help she’d received from Strength. It made her worried about how he would be when he was restored to his full power.

“Sit,” she said, nodding at the sofa by the doorway. She sat opposite him on the bed. “Talk,” she said shortly.

‘I do not appreciate being avoided,” he stated.

“And I don’t appreciate being manhandled. Next.”

“Your glibness does you no credit,” he warned her softly, his eyes heating up. “You _will_ resume our lessons in the Fade. You will also inform the Tevinter that his services as your trainer are no longer required. You will show up at the sparring grounds tomorrow, at first light.”

She stared at him indignantly. “I _will not_ be ordered around,” she retorted. “I will think about resuming the Fade lessons, but I am not going to tell Dorian,” she waved a hand in frustration, “whatever you just said.”

“Do you honestly believe he can offer you the kind of knowledge I can?” Solas asked her as though the very idea that Dorian could teach her anything was humorous.

That caused her hackles to rise up. “Why not?” she replied coolly. “He has been very well educated. He is well-read, intelligent and knowledgeable. I’m certain I could learn much from him.”

There was a tick in his jaw when she finished talking. “But can he teach you how to create light sculptures?” he asked casually, but his voice was taut.

“Light sculptures?” her ears perked up.

He smirked. “ _Aju tarasyl'lean_. An art form I have learned through my travels in the Fade,” he began smoothly. “It involves using magic to create art out of lights, colors and shadows.” He flicked his fingers, and a holographic version of Skyhold materialized in the space between them.

“Holy fuck,” she breathed, staring at it.

Another flick of his fingers, and it vanished. “Can _Dorian_ teach you that?” he asked smugly.

“I could ask him…” she muttered.

He let out an indulgent chuckle. “Come now, there is no shame in admitting that you have poor taste in instructors,” he smirked. “I would be only too happy to teach you how to do this.”

She gave him a considering look. “As long as our interactions are limited only to _learning_ and nothing else,” she challenged.

“Very well,” he replied, his eyes gleaming deviously, “I will not do anything you do not ask me to do.”

 _Why_ did that sound like trouble?

* * *

“I cannot believe you would send me to a place filled with undead,” Dorian flopped dramatically next to her on the sofa.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re a necromancer, Dorian. Who else would be better suited to dealing with the undead?”

“But they _smell_! Horrendously! The very idea of a well-groomed man such as myself trudging through muck of rotting flesh…” he shuddered. “ _Tu es femina crudelis_.”

“ _Deliciarum flos_ ,”she teased. “You can handle it.”

He sniffed. “Of course I can, but I would rather not.”

“There, there, now,” she patted his arm kindly.

“A little birdie told me that you and the elven apostate have made up,” he commented with a glint in his eye.

‘Shhh!” she looked around the library warily. “Who told you that?” she whispered.

“So it’s true, then?” his grin grew wider.

She flushed. “There’s this technique he’s going to show me… he called it light sculptures. I kind of really want to learn how to do that. But think of all the entertaining I could do if I knew how to!”

“Now that is an idea I like the sound of,” he said approvingly. “What did you have in mind?”

“I can’t tell you, it’s a secret,” she winked at him. “Besides, it’s too early to comment yet, I haven’t even started learning it.”

“I expect you to teach me when I return from that terrible place,” he teased.

“If I can master it by then,” she joked.

“Oh, you will. I have no doubt about it. You’re like a sponge, place you anywhere near knowledge and-” he snapped his fingers, “just like that, you’ve taken it all in. I’d be terribly jealous if I weren’t so well-read, you know.”

She shook her head in amusement. “You are such a braggart,” she laughed.

“I am, aren’t I? WIth good reason too, I should add. What are you reading so voraciously?” he asked.

She handed him the book. _Infirmitatem de Malasunte et Curatio._

“You read Tevene?” he asked, surprised.

“The markings have given me an affinity for languages,” she explained.

“You really are serious about helping Felix,” he said softly.

She looked at him, surprised. “Well of course,” she frowned, “why would I say something and then not do it? Speaking of Felix, when does he arrive?”

“Next week, I believe.” Dorian said quietly. “If he is well. He took a turn for the worse at Minrathous, and he was delayed.”

She looked troubled. He patted her shoulder. “You’ll do it, Samarra. Even if nothing can be done for Felix, I will always be grateful that you tried.” He rose quickly; Samarra could see the moisture in his eyes, and her heart twisted. “ _Te visurum_ ,”he said, and left her alone to stare blankly at her book.

_I have to try harder. I must do more. I think I need to have a little chat with the Grand Enchanter._

* * *

“I was wondering when you would call upon me, seeress,” the Grand Enchanter stated calmly as Samarra walked into her office.

She shut the door carefully behind her. “Would you mind?” she asked, tilting her head in the direction of a silencing rune. A small burst of light from the Grand Enchanter, and the rune began to glow softly.

“I sense this must be quite a delicate matter,” Fiona said, her eyebrows raised.

“Indeed,” she murmured as she sat down. “I’d like to know more about you, Grand Enchanter. I was informed you were once a Grey Warden?”

“Yes,” Fiona narrowed her eyes, “although the taint disappeared after several years. How it happened, I do not know, but the rest of my Order were… less than pleased. They believed I had cheated death. Rumors that I was a blood mage circulated, and were quickly disproven,” the grand enchanter continued aggressively.

“Did the taint disappear before or after your relationship with King Maric?” she asked smoothly.

Fiona froze. “I do not see what my personal relationships have to do with the subject of discussion,” she replied stiffly.

“On the contrary,” Samarra said softly. “There are three people who will urgently require our help, Fiona. One of them is on his way here. Felix. You know him. The other you have met, in Redcliffe. The third… well. The third is of your own blood. They are all tainted. They all need help.”

“What does that have to do with King Maric?” Fiona asked.

Samarra leaned back in her chair. “King Maric Theirin, descendant of Calenhad Theirin, the man who united Ferelden,” she said softly. “The man in whose veins flows the blood of the Great Dragons of old.” 

Fiona could only stare at her. 

“Calenhad was blessed by the Queen of the Great Dragons centuries ago, Fiona,” Samarra continued her explanation in the same soft voice. “He was what most would call a reaver, but he was so much more than that. Every descendant of his carries the blood of a Great Dragon.” She leaned in closer. “The Great Dragons roamed Thedas even before the Blight.” She looked Fiona in the eye. “ _Do you know what that means_?”

“It cannot be…” Fiona gasped.

Samarra nodded. “You were cleansed of the taint because you bore Maric’s son. When you carried his child, the blood of the great dragon cleansed you of the taint. That was why every Joining you took part in after failed. Because you have dragon blood in you.”

Fiona slumped in her chair, overwhelmed. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, bewildered.

“Because you are the only one who can help me. Your son, Fiona, is a Grey Warden. You know this”

“Is Alistair in trouble?” Fiona asked worriedly.

“Not yet,” Samarra replied sympathetically. “You know he is the _true_ king of Ferelden. He is the last of the Theirins, Fiona. The lineage _must not_ be allowed to die out. You must help me find a way to cure the taint in him.”

“How was Alistair able to go through the Joining if he was Maric’s son?” Fiona asked, puzzled.

She shrugged. “I don’t know... yet.”

Fiona rubbed her face wearily. “I will do all I can to help my son,” she promised.

Samarra rose from her seat and walked to the door. She hesitated, and turned around. “You did a great disservice to Alistair in allowing him to think his mother was dead,” she said quietly. “He deserves to know the truth.”

Fiona stared back at her, desolate. “Will he forgive me?”

“Even if he does not, he should know who his mother is. And Fiona, if you breathe even a syllable of what I’ve told you now to a soul outside these walls, it would lead to _complete and utter chaos_. I don’t need to tell you again - you will take this conversation with you **to the grave**.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
> (elven) Aju tarasyl'lean - art of sky light 
> 
> (tevene) Tu es femina crudelis - you are a cruel woman
> 
> (tevene) Delicarum flos - delicate flower
> 
> (tevene) Te visurum - see you later
> 
> * * *
> 
> The mystery deepens...
> 
> So, I'm _positive_ that the reason Fiona was cured of the Blight was because she had sexy-times with Maric, who had dragon blood in him. Alistair's from the same bloodline, but the Joining forced too much of the Taint into his body. In DA:I, if you run the war table 'Learn More About Dragons' you find out that they're unusually resistant to the blight. Dragons isolate the blight in pockets, keeping it from infecting them. But those were High Dragons; what Calenhad drank was the blood of a Great Dragon - we don't know much about those.


	59. Spirited Secrets And Terrifying Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unravelling some mysteries leads to others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought. [or to indicate a different language]
> 
> * * *
> 
> Apologies in advance for the [undoubtedly butchered] elven in this chapter.
> 
>   
> Ever wondered what Samarra's "what do you want _now_ Solas" pose would be? Well, wonder no more, because [annadonovan's](http://annaddonovan.deviantart.com/art/Samarra-Bayart-2-640716184?ga_submit_new=10%253A1476743647) sketched it out! [It's so lovely, thank you!]
> 
>   
> 

“I’m pretty sure my hypothesis that dragon blood can cure the Blight is fairly accurate,” she remarked, sitting across Knowledge and Purpose in a beautiful grassy knoll. “The problem is, what kind? Would dragonling blood work? Or a High Dragon? Or do I have to find a Great Dragon?” she chewed on her lip. 

“The High Dragons are descendants of the Queen,” Knowledge reminded her. “The bloodline is shared.”

“And I do not think it would be kind to injure the young ones,” Purpose admonished her. “The adults would give their permission, provided they found you worthy.”

Her ears perked up. “ **Can** one talk to dragons?”

Knowledge smiled indulgently. “The language is old, as old as that of the first Children of the Stone. There are only three in the waking world who can speak it. But you are not like the others; you are gifted. Perhaps you shall be able to.”

“How would they deem one worthy?”

“By one’s scent.”

“So, before I could even try and talk to them, if they sniff me and think that I’m ‘not worthy’, I’m going to get my ass eaten by a dragon?” she asked incredulously.

“That is so,” the two spirits agreed simultaneously, wearing expressions of complete calm.

“Well, that’s just great,” she muttered. “Assuming that a dragon does accept me enough to give me some of its blood… what next?”

Purpose and Knowledge looked at each other. “We do not know,” Purpose said at last. “We have seen much, but this we do not know. There is one who might. Wisdom is elder to us and has seen the times of the Great Dragons. We can take you to her.”

“Wisdom? As is, Solas’ friend Wisdom?” she asked. They nodded. “But won’t he be conversing with her? I can’t go there, he’ll suspect something is up.”

“The Wolf will learn about us sooner or later,” Knowledge said, not unkindly. “He already suspects.”

“He’s been acting... strange… lately, and… I don’t want to give him an excuse to continue his behavior.”

Purpose sighed. “Perhaps it is time you meet Wisdom. I will bring her to you.” The spirit vanished, and Samarra twirled her fingers uncomfortably. “I hope I am not being disrespectful to Wisdom,” she said softly.

“You are the Keeper. We know what you seek to accomplish. We like to be in your presence,” Knowledge reassured her.

“Keeper? What does that mean?”

“I do not know the answer to your question. Only those who live in the deepest of the Fade know the true meaning of the word,” Knowledge said. 

“This is the Keeper, Wisdom,” she heard Purpose say, and turned her head to look at the new arrival.

Wisdom looked calm, serene and graceful. She moved like the gentle flow of a stream. Being in her presence made Samarra feel peaceful. 

“ _An’daran atish’an, elgar’sileal_ ,” Samarra rose to her feet and greeted the spirit. 

“ _Enastesha ea amahn, da’lan_ ” she replied. “ _Elgar’thanun dirtha nuvenan ‘ma halani._ ”

“ _Vin, elgar’sileal. Nuvenan eolas ladaran banalhan_.” 

“ _Eolasan irmorisenatha’lin?_ ” 

“ _Vin. Y’tel’eolasas thanas lin’morisenatha._ ” 

“ _Himan era’isenatha. Mar’lan telir’vir_.” 

“ _Ar thu jushivanan?_ ” 

“ _Juelasas mar’lin tuathas lin’isenatha. Juhiman era’isenatha. Ladaran ga’lin vir mar’lin._ ”

“ _Ara’lan ena’sa’lin?_ ” 

“ _Ane isenathe’dirthelan, fen’esem. Nar’ena’sa’lin._ ” 

“ _Ame fen’esem? Jusulevan?_ ” 

Wisdom smiled. “ _Tel’uneolasas, da’lan, Fen’harel y’ma’esem._ ” 

“ _Tel’neal! Ar teleolasan? Ahnsul?_ ” 

“ _Neal, da’lan. Ane esan ahnsul Fen’harel ma’sulemem’ah min’alas’en._ ” 

“ _Nae!_ ” her eyes grew wide in confusion. “ _Ar teleolasan..._ ”

“ _Junevena is’halani var vhen is’halam’shira, var vhen is’nuema._ ”

“ _Y’is’tel’unvhellan!_ ” 

“ _Tel’vhellan’ma, nae. Y’sa’aronem’ma._ ” 

“ _Ar aronan?_ ” 

“ _Vin. Bel’alan’elaan’annar, ar itheman sa’aron’ma. Fen’harel dalem’ish._ ” 

Samarra turned white. “ _Fen’harel… dalem’ish? Fen’harel judalan’em?_ ” she asked in a fearful tone.

“ _Nae, da’lan. Ane Fen’harel esem, isa vhen’an. Ane isa’ bre’el’isalathe._ ”

“ _Ame tel’eolasan ea’nuven! Eolasan asahn ish nuven’ana!_ ” 

Wisdom looked at her sadly. “ _Ma ryas viraju hima isa’sil. Haran telir mar’lan, da’lan, banalasas isa lath. Elan on’vhen’an. Ame’isa, i’ise’nar. Tel’himan’ra._ ” 

“ _Sathan, ma halani_ ,” Samarra pleaded. “ _Ar tel’eolasan isa’nuven’ma. Ar tel’eolasan thu isa halani._ ” 

“ _Da’lan, sulrahnel sal’shiral durgen’athe. Fen’harel jughi’my. Fen’harel ma’gonum. Fen’harel vianvallas’ma. Tel’himan’ra. Juvhallan’ra. Esayan atish’ra. Anan ra, i’jueolasas thu ish halani_.”

“ _Tel’re elvyr_ ” she whispered. 

Wisdom pleaded with her. “ _Latheman Fen’harel mar’alas’en. Lathan’ish min alas’en. Is’iselenem’ma ga’sal’shiral, esem’sa. Sathan, tel’nuas ma’falon_.”

She smiled wryly. “ _Ise junu’ma_.” 

“ _Ane sounala o’dhruan._ ” Wisdom replied with a smile. 

She sighed. “ _Ar eman ir’sila. ‘Ma serannas, elgar’sileal._ ” 

“ _Sathem lasa halani, da’lan._ ” 

She woke up with a throbbing headache and a strange feeling of fear in her heart. What Wisdom had told her had shaken her deeply. If any of what she said was true…

She swung her legs off the bed, and padded over to the bathtub. Filling it with streaming hot water, she gingerly stepped in, enjoying the heat as it first stung, then soothed her muscles. Resting her head back against the rim, she closed her eyes and began to think.

_Let’s see, now. Solas had something to do with bringing me here. Or… not Solas. She kept calling him Fen’harel. Why? I thought Fen’harel was an insult he wore as a badge of pride? But Wisdom referred to him constantly as Fen’harel, never Solas… but Solas came first, he said that himself._

_Really? Amidst everything you’ve learned, you’re concerned about whether he’s Solas or Fen’harel. Great sense of priorities you have there._

_Everything is a clue. I can’t afford to ignore it._

_I’m sorry, but why aren’t you FREAKING OUT over the fact that he’s met someone like you before and KILLED THEM. HE MURDERED SOMEONE LIKE YOU. Why does that not terrify you?_

_It… it does. But Wisdom said..._

_Do you remember the Solas romance? At that cave in Crestwood? Where he decides to finally confess the truth to the Inquisitor? Up till that moment, he’s totally up for the truth. And then what happens? He changes his mind. He can do that, you know. Maybe he doesn’t want to kill you right now. Maybe because you’re still a puzzle to him, or he’s attracted to you, or he’s around to keep an eye on you. But what happens later? Say, like after he leaves after defeating Corypheus?_

_You’re saying that if he’s no longer around to ‘keep an eye on me’ he’s going to see me as a threat._

_Of course. Maybe what Wisdom meant was he’s going to hunt you down, find you, and murder you. Then you won’t be around to derail his plans, right?_

_I don’t think that’s what Wisdom meant. He… he might not kill me. I mean, he could just imprison me or something… right?_

_Oh, sweet honey child. Do you think he will have the facilities needed to imprison you? As an underground rebel? What do you think would be the easier option? Struggling to find a location to imprison you, and wasting resources in keeping you alive, or just ending your life? No you, no problem. Can’t you see that?_

_Wisdom said that I am his, and that he is mine. What does that mean? Do you think it has something to do with the fact that I really, really want to keep touching him?_

_Who gives a flying fuck. I mean, really, woman? PRIORITIES. You might have to kill him before he can kill you._

_Whoa whoa whoa whoa we’re getting way ahead of ourselves here. Solas does play a big part in the Inquisition, remember. He's the only one who can keep Helena alive, and keep the Anchor stabilized. Why are you turning into a little murdering monster?_

_Because I’d very much like to LIVE thankyouverymuch._

_I’m sure we can find another way. Let’s not jump to straight up murder, I mean, that makes me sound just as bad as you make him sound._

_Why is your fucking head in the fucking clouds?_

_Because I’m right, and I know it. Solas… Fen’harel… isn’t going to kill me. Wisdom was very clear about that. Besides, Cole hasn’t told me anything of the sort._

_Yeah, there’s going to be an “accident” to get you out of the way, once he finds out the truth about you._

_LOOK. You have to SHUT UP and listen to me for once, okay? The important thing is this: Sometime in the past, Solas killed someone like me. Who? Why? Apparently, he wants to help the people he hurt, and somehow ended up bringing me to Thedas. How? And why doesn’t he seem to recognize me if so? I’m apparently his ‘chosen one’, whatever the shit that means. And apparently I’m supposed to make peace with it? Fuck that noise. I’m team #makeThedasawesomeforeveryone NOT team #letsburntheworlddown._

_... You have no idea what any of that means, do you?_

_Not a fucking clue. Except the team part. I’m all about the awesome._

_Keep this shit up, and you’ll be all about the DEAD._

_Wow, such positivity. Love you too._

Thinking hadn’t helped her much. If anything, she was more confused now than ever. But one thing seemed certain - she and Solas were linked, somehow. How and why and what it meant were all mysteries to her - for the moment, anyway.

There were more important matters to tend to. The first was tracking down a damn dragon, apparently. _Dragon friend. Gotta say, I like the sound of that. Pretty badass. Does that make me something like a dovahkiin? Probably not. I’m just their friend, not dragon born. But hey, if someone wants to start calling me Daenerys, I’m not going to start complaining._

_Look, you can wander into mushy lovey-dovey romantic dragon territory all you want. I’m just hoping that we don’t become dragon appetizers._

_You’re right. What’s the closest dragon we have around?_

_There’s the Ferelden Frostback, and then the one in Crestwood…_

_Okay, can’t get to the one in Crestwood yet, too much shit going down in that region. And I can’t go with Helena, it’ll be difficult to break off from the group and find the Northern Hunter. Not to mention the Inquisitor is headed for the Fallow Mire. Guess it’ll have to be the Ferelden Frostback._

_You DO realize the Frostback is more viciously territorial even when compared to other High Dragons? And you just want to waltz into her lair?_

_… that’s the plan._

_Well, it’s been nice knowing you._

She definitely couldn’t go alone. But who could she take with her? Fiona, definitely. Blackwall and Bull were going with Helena, and she did not think Cassandra would appreciate any ritual involving either dragons or blood, so that meant the Seeker was out. She could ask Cole to come with her, he wouldn’t judge, and he probably knew everything anyway.

Well then. It would just have to be the three of them.

She checked in on her healers first, amused to see the usually quiet Ashalle chastising one of the new trainees about wasting resources. Samarra was proud of her team - they weren’t afraid of hard work, did their best, asked questions, and weren’t afraid to challenge her if they thought she was wrong.

When the Inquisition came to an end, Thedas would be well-served by the healers they trained here.

Leaving the angry elven woman to her class, she began hunting down Cole. The spirit was never in one location, and had always usually popped up when he thought he was needed.

“There’s so much to do,” a familiar voice popped up besides her.

She jumped. As fond as she was of Cole, his habit of apparating out of thin air never failed to spook her. “I’m glad to see you, cole-bun. Have you been keeping busy? I’ve heard strange things around the Keep.”

“Yes. Maybe. What was it?”

“Someone found a barrel full of misplaced daggers.”

He smiled. “They were safer there.”

“Safer than on someone’s belt, where they could draw them in the heat of an argument,” she said with a knowing smile, wrapping an arm around his waist in a half-hug.

He didn’t shy away from the contact, as he usually did with the others. “They would have been sad later,” he explained.

“I appreciate what you do, Cole, even if no one else does. You are a sweetheart.”

“He won’t like it if you go without him,” Cole warned.

_Ahh yes. Getting straight to the matter there._ “It’s not his decision to make,” she said calmly. “He shouldn’t see what happens.”

“Yes,” Cole agreed. “He circles around, sniffing, setting out baits and lures. He hunts, cautious, careful, cunning, but she skirts the edges of the trap. Frustrated, irritated but enthralled.” He trailed off. “Why does he want to eat you?”

She turned bright red. “Ahhh, Cole, maybe you should keep those thoughts of his private,” she stammered. “I came to ask if you would join me.”

“Yes,” he said. “I would like to see her. It has been a long time.”

He walked with her till the tavern then veered right suddenly, leaving her alone, mumbling about cheese and mint. She shook her head and watched him sneak into the kitchen. _Bless you, you caring little cinnamon bun._

She had a quick chat with Fiona, who was both apprehensive and curious about her plan, but nevertheless agreed to accompany her.

“We’ll need a cover story,” Fiona warned. “I doubt anyone will let you leave if you tell them you mean to chase after a dragon.”

“I know. I was rather hoping you would have some ideas,” Samarra admitted. 

Fiona looked thoughtful. “This camp, you say, is close to Redcliffe Village? Perhaps you could use the pretext of following up on the Village as an excuse.”

Samarra sighed. “No, they’re not going to believe that. But I think I have an idea, though.” She left the Grand Enchanter’s office and knocked on another door in the corridor. An elf with light brown hair looked up. “Samarra!,” she exclaimed, her face lighting up. “How nice to see you. What can I do for you?”

Samarra like Minaeve. The elf was intelligent, fierce, caring, and above all, loyal. They’d spend several long hours in Haven discussing creatures and demons of all sorts, and Samarra was rather blown away to find that the creature researcher was an expert at dissections. She sympathized with the elf for her childhood; it was unthinkable that her clan had cast her out as a helpless child, alone and defenseless.

Really, it seemed sometimes that everyone in Thedas was a bit of a dick.

“I’m planning to undertake an exploratory expedition. Would you like to join in?” she asked.

“What are you planning to explore,” Minaeve asked, a little suspiciously.

Samarra grinned. “Dragons.”

“Dragons!” the elf squealed. “Are you mad? You’ll be killed!"

“I’m not going to hunt them, Minaeve, I just want to study them,” she explained patiently. “Corypheus has a dragon. I thought, perhaps, we might be able to learn something that may be of use against it, if we observe and study dragons.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Minaeve said doubtfully.

“So, what do you say?”

“How long will it be for?” she asked. 

“Two weeks, including travel time.”

“Will the Inquisitor allow it?” Minaeve seemed hesitant.

“You leave that to me. I just need to know if you’ll accompany me or not.”

Minaeve looked cautiously optimistic. “I have never had the chance to observe a dragon in the wild before,” she said slowly. “I would be a fool not to take it. I’ll come,” she decided.

“Excellent! Could you make a list of resources we’ll need? Journals, bottles for collecting samples, etc.”

The creature researcher promised to deliver the list to her by the end of the day. Samarra also advised her to ask the requisitions officer for armor, making a mental note to talk to the man as well.

_Now to convince the others_ , she sighed as she walked into the war room. 

“Absolutely not!” Helena exclaimed.

“Are you out of your mind?” That was Cullen.

“Certainly not. It is far too dangerous, and you are far too important.” Leliana declared.

She sighed. “Okay, you’re all acting as though I’m going to fight a dragon; I’m not. I’m just going to observe its behaviour, collect some samples, and return. That’s it. Look, Corypheus has a dragon. You want to tell me you have any suggestions on how to deal with it?”

There was silence.

“I thought so. I’m not going to take any unnecessary risks, I’m not stupid or insane, and neither do I have a death wish. I’m going to go with the Grand Enchanter, our creature researcher Minaeve - I’d take Helisma along, but I fear she might not be able to defend herself - and Cole is coming along to keep an eye on me.”

“Cole does have an attachment to you,” Helena murmured, clearly wavering. “Okay, fine, you can go on your little dragon information-collecting trip. Don’t be unnecessarily reckless, no risk-taking, no doing anything that could lead to injuries, and you’ll go for as short a time as possible. Understood?”

“Yes, _ser_!” she grinned.

Helena rolled her eyes. “Do you even know where to find one?” the brunette challenged.

“Why do you think I came up with the idea?” Samarra said slyly. “There’s one waiting for us in the Hinterlands. It’s a Ferelden Frostback.”

As she left the council, she heard Cullen talking to Helena. “Maker’s breath,” he said. “Are we sure the woman doesn’t have a death wish?”

_Oh ha ha, Commander. Very funny._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> An’daran atish’an, elgar’sileal - greetings, welcome/the place you go is a safe place, WIsdom
> 
> Enastesha ea amahn, da’lan - Graced to be here, child
> 
> Elgar’thanun dirtha nuvenan ‘ma halani - Purpose tells me you need my help
> 
> Vin, elgar’sileal. Nuvenan eolas ladaran banalhan - yes, Wisdom. I wish to know how to treat for the Blight
> 
> Eolasan irmorisenatha’lin? - (You know about the blood of the Great Dragon?
> 
> Vin. Y’tel’eolasas thanas lin’morisenatha -Yes. But I do not know how to use the blood of a High Dragon
> 
> Himan era’isenatha. Mar’lan telir’vir - you must become the dragon vessel. That is the only way
> 
> Ar thu jushivanan? - how do i do my duty?
> 
> Juelasas mar’lin tuathas lin’isenatha. Juhiman era’isenatha. Ladaran ga’lin vir mar’lin -Allow your blood to join with the blood of the dragon. Cure the others by way of your blood
> 
> Ara’lan ena’sa’lin? -will I triumph/succeed?
> 
> Ane isenathe’dirthelan, fen’esem. Nar’ena’sa’lin -You are the dragon friend, chosen of the wolf. Victory will be yours.
> 
> Ame fen’esem? Jusulevan? -I’m the chosen of the wolf? What does that mean?
> 
> Tel’uneolasas, da’lan, Fen’harel y’ma’esem -You don’t know, child, but the Dread Wolf has chosen you
> 
> Tel’neal! Ar teleolasan? Ahnsul? - it cannot be! I don’t understand? Why?
> 
> Neal, da’lan. Ane esan ahnsul Fen’harel ma’sulemem’ah min’alas’en - It is, child. You are chosen because the dread wolf brought you to this world
> 
> Nae! Ar teleolasan - No! I don't understand
> 
> Junevena is’halani var vhen is’halam’shira, var vhen is’nuema - he wishes to help the people he abandoned, the people he hurt
> 
> Y’is’tel’unvhellan! -but he has never met me!
> 
> Tel’vhellan’ma, nae. Y’sa’aronem’ma - he has not met you, no. But there was one similar to you
> 
> Ar aronan? - similar to me?
> 
> Vin. Bel’alan’elaan’annar, ar itheman sa’aron’ma. Fen’harel dalem’ish - yes. Many thousands of years ago, I saw one like you. The dread wolf killed him
> 
> Fen’harel… dalem’ish? Fen’harel judalan’em? - the dread wolf… killed him? Will he kill me?
> 
> Nae, da’lan. Ane Fen’harel esem, isa vhen’an. Ane isa’ bre’el’isalathe - no, little one. You are the dread wolf’s chosen, his heart. You are his deepest desire
> 
> Ame tel’eolasan ea’nuven! Eolasan asahn ish nuven’ana - I do not know if wish to be! I know what he plans to do!
> 
> Ma ryas viraju hima isa’sil. Haran telir mar’lan, da’lan, banalasas isa lath. Elan on’vhen’an. Ame’isa, i’ise’nar. Tel’himan’ra - You must work to change his mind. You only trick/cheat yourself, child by refusing his love. He has a good heart. You are his, and he is yours. You cannot change that
> 
> Sathan, ma halani. Ar tel’eolasan isa’nuven’ma. Ar tel’eolasan thu isa halani - please, help me. I don’t know what he wants from me. I don’t know how to help him.
> 
> Da’lan, sulrahnel sal’shiral durgen’athe. Fen’harel jughi’my. Fen’harel ma’gonum. Fen’harel vianvallas’ma. Tel’himan’ra. Juvhallan’ra. Esayan atish’ra. Anan ra, i’jueolasas thu ish halani - child, some things in life are like stone. The dread wolf will hunt you. The dread wolf will claim you. The dread wolf will mark you. You cannot change that. Accept it. Make peace with it. Do that, and you will know how to help him
> 
> Tel’re elvyr - it cannot be so simple
> 
> Latheman Fen’harel mar’alas’en. Lathan’ish min alas’en. Is’iselenem’ma ga’sal’shiral, esem’sa. Sathan, tel’nuas ma’falon - you loved the dread wolf in your world. Love him in this world. He has awaited you all his life, chosen one. Don’t hurt my friend please 
> 
> Ise junu’ma - it is him who will hurt me)
> 
> Ane sounala o’dhruan - you are stronger than you believe
> 
> Ar eman ir’sila. ‘Ma serannas, elgar’sileal - i have much to think about. Thank you, Wisdom
> 
> Sathem lasa halani, da’lan -Pleased to give assistance, my child
> 
> * * *
> 
> Sorry about all the elven. I know Wisdom speaks to Solas in elven, and I wanted to keep it kind of true to form? In any case, it was so hard to translate all that, ugh.
> 
> Took me an hour to edit this damn chapter. Apparently AO3 thought everything needed to be in italics... Also, 60 chapters and we haven't even gotten to Crestwood? Say whaaaaaat. Clearly, I'm insane. Right?
> 
> Down the rabbit hole we go...


	60. Setting Out To Make Sense of Spirit Sayings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Wisdom tells you to talk to a dragon... you look for a dragon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I'm trying out hovertext in this chapter, so if you mouse-over the elven, it should give the translation. I've included the translation at the bottom as well. Let me know what you think!

She was searching the many bookshelves in the library, trying to find anything with a remote connection to dragons. The only one she’d found so far was in Tevene, _Mala Voluntatis Veteris Dii_ , Evils of the Old Gods. It was basically a summary of the Old Gods of Tevinter, the Dragons of Evil. But there was nothing in there about Dragons.

She was reading a paragraph on how the high priests of the Old Gods spoke to their masters, and how they were twisted by the evil that the Old Gods were made of, when Solas came upon her. He gave a careless glance at the book in her hands, although his brows went up when he noted the title.

“Is there a reason for your sudden interest in the Old Gods?” he asked.

“Corypheus, of course. A magister who breached the golden city under orders from his master. Who were they? Where are they now? All interesting and valid questions, don’t you think?”

“The creature mentioned that his gods did not answer him. Perhaps we do not need to worry about them,” he replied tersely.

It was her turn to raise her brows. “Really? You’re not worried that an ancient darkspawn magister, who once breached the Veil to reach the golden city on orders of one god, now holds the orb of another god?” She shook her head. “Way too many gods involved, if you ask me. I wouldn’t trust anyone who calls themselves a god,” she muttered.

He grinned. “Do not let Leliana or the Seeker overhear your rant. It would not do for people to learn that the seeress of their Herald does not believe in the Maker or Andraste.” 

She sighed. “No, of course not.”

“What do you believe in, if not the Maker?” he asked curiously. 

“Hmmm,” she mulled over the question. “That’s an interesting question, really. I’ve never given much thought to it before. Do I believe that there is some superior being who watches over all of us, rewarding and punishing us at will? No, although I can see the appeal in that. Sometimes it’s nice to believe in someone else, when things are beyond your control, isn’t it? I believe that we’re all equal. I believe that it is everyone’s right to exist. Everyone has a right to freedom of choice. It is everyone’s right to live a life in the pursuit of happiness, without fear of servitude, fear of subjugation, fear of injustice or fear of slavery. You, me, everyone in Skyhold, everyone outside Skyhold - we all hope and dream, laugh and love, work towards a better future for the ones who come after us. Why should elves be forced to live as second class citizens? Why should people be forced into slavery? Why should mages be tied down by the chains cast over them by a Chantry that does nothing to understand them? There is much wrong in this world… and yet, I have hope. There are many good people in it as well. As long as there is hope, there is a chance for a brighter future right?” She looked up at him with a wry smile. “That was a rather long, and possibly boring, speech. I’m sorry you had to listen to it.”

“Do not apologize,” he said roughly. “It was fascinating to listen to.”

“If you say so,” she laughed lightly. “Was there a reason you sought me out, Solas? I can’t think it was because you wanted to discuss religion with me.”

“Ahh, yes,” he said. “I have been informed that you are planning an excursion to the Hinterlands to study a dragon.”

“Wow, word really does travel fast around here,” she said lightly, but her eyes turned a little hard. “Yes, that’s true. There is a Ferelden Frostback near the Dusklight camp, I believe. It will be an interesting experience to study it.”

“I should like to accompany you,” he said pleasantly.

“Oh, there’s no need really, Solas, but thank you for the offer. The Grand Enchanter has graciously agreed to join me. I’m also taking Minaeve and Cole. We’ll be fine. Plus, I overheard you talking to Josephine about how much you were looking forward to beginning the painting process on the mural you have sketched out. I wouldn’t want to take you away from that. I must admit, it looks grand, and that is only my poor, untrained eye observing it.”

There was a tick on the corner of his jaw, where his pulse was hammering away. “I am sure I can spare the time. I believe sister Leliana will agree with me when I say that you are far too valuable a resource to send out of the fortress alone.”

“But I’m not going to be alone,” she said cheerily. “Cole is going to keep an eye on me. Plus we’ll be travelling with the supply wagon. Plenty of people around. Plus, the Grand Enchanter is a formidable woman, Solas. You’ve seen her in battle. I have no doubt I will be quite safe _without you_.” She emphasized the last two words slowly and clearly, driving home the point. “I’ve already arranged everything with Leliana. She agrees with me.”

She brushed past him, head held high, book in the crook of her arm. His hand latched onto her elbow almost painfully hard, forcing her to stop. “I expect to see you in the Fade each night you are away, Samarra,” he growled. “That is _not_ up for debate. Do not test me on this.”

She tossed her head back. “I will think about it,” she retorted. 

“Do not think for a moment that I would not approach the Inquisitor about this,” he replied silkily. “Either you meet me in the Fade, or I will ask Helena to make you take me along with you. Which would you prefer?”

She flushed with anger. “You’re insufferable,” she spat.

“I have been told that many times,” he agreed calmly. “But that is not an answer. Which is it to be?”

“I’ll meet you in the Fade,” she said, gritting her teeth.

“I thought as much,” he said smugly. He pulled her back, so that her back was pressed against his chest, his lips near her ear. “See that you do so,” he whispered. “If not, I will be forced to… punish… you upon your return, _da’assan_.” He released his grip on her and sauntered away, looking immensely pleased with himself.

_Fuck you, Solas_ , she thought angrily. Her fist was clenched tightly, and she was trembling with annoyance… and more than a fair bit of arousal, thought she’d never admit it to anyone. She did not take well to being ordered. She swallowed, and tried to pull herself together. All that mattered was that he wouldn’t be around to observe the ritual. That was what was important.

* * *

Samarra and her companions were the first to leave, the supply wagon usually departing at first light of day. Dorian hugged her tightly, telling her he would have her hide if she came back even slightly injured. Helena did much the same. “I swear on Andraste, if I see even a scratch on you, I will kill you myself, hunt you down in the Fade and kill you again, do you understand?” the brunette threatened. “You better get back here when I do. I need to see my sister’s face when I get back.”

“You’ll see me, don’t worry,” Samarra promised. “And you better keep yourself safe, you hear me? Or so help me, I will concoct the worst tasting potion this world has ever seen and force it down your throat multiple times a day.”

Helena laughed, and pulled her into a hug. “Find out what you can,” she asked. “But be careful. No unnecessary risks, you understand?”

“Got it,” she smiled.

She was checking on Isaline’s saddle and reins when she felt his presence. Staunchly ignoring him, she went about her task. 

“Samarra,” a quiet voice behind her spoke up.

“What is it, Solas?” she asked icily.

A sigh. “Look at me, _da’assan_.”

She closed her eyes. He actually sounded worried, and she… she was defenseless against that tone. Slightly hating herself, she turned to face him. “Yes?” she asked.

He reached out for hesitantly, fingers lightly brushing against her cheek before he dropped his hand. She’d never seen him this vulnerable before, and it concerned her. “Yes?” she asked again, softly this time.

“Be careful, _da’assan_ ,” he pleaded. “Please.”

She swallowed. “I intend to be,” she tried to joke.

He didn’t smile. “Why do you not wish for me to accompany you?” he asked in a hurt tone.

_This was new. Was this another trick? A new tactic, perhaps? Meant to feed my guilt till I cave in?_

“I’m not helpless, Solas,” she said firmly. “You should stop treating me that way.”

His eyes flickered with worry, and for a moment Samarra felt very guilty. It did seem as though he was only concerned for her safety. He sighed again, and brushed his lips lightly across her forehead. “ _[Ethas na.]()_.”

“ _[Tas dar'eth]()_ ,” she replied, touched. “ _[Ar juethan, Solas. Te'telsilan.]()_ ” 

“ _[She'juvegaran]()_ ,” he said with a small smile.

She laughed. “ _[San, arani.]()_ ” 

Soon she was atop Isaline, her Forder ready and eager to set off. With little fanfare, the wagon rolled out, followed by the four riders, and several scouts. 

As she passed the portcullis, she thought she heard Solas call out _[Dar'eth shiral, lethallan.]()_.

_Lethallan_. Blood kin. Clan mate. Close friend.

Suddenly, she felt very, very guilty indeed.

* * *

She’d thought the journey from Skyhold to the Hinterlands would be longer than it had been from Haven, but thanks to good roads - which were much safer now, thanks to the Inquisition’s efforts - it was about the same time. They reached the Crossroads in four days. The journey hadn’t been as bad as she thought it would be; the scouts she travelled with were friendly souls by nature, and they had been curious about Fiona, asking the Grand Enchanter for tales of her time as a Grey Warden.

They faced no resistance on the road. The lead scout, Kara, informed her proudly that bandits and mercenaries avoided attacking anything with Inquisition regalia, having learned the hard way that they would face stiff resistance if they did so. Cole had a tendency to wander away every so now and then; at first she was alarmed, worried that he would get into trouble, but she soon realized he was just doing his usual Cole thing. She followed him once to find him plucking daisies from a thick patch of the flowers, only to deposit them a little while later at the entrance to a burrow. “They’re very hungry,” he said by way of explanation. When one of the scouts twisted her ankle, he cheered her up by attracting a skulk of fennec foxes close to their camp that night, and she’d laughed, enticed by their antics.

He kept a watchful eye on her without her even noticing, and for that she was humbled.

At the Crossroads, he spent his time healing the small hurts that the people there had, banishing their fears, and nurturing the kindness in them. Watching him work was akin to watching a miracle take place. No one remembered him, or what he’d done, but they all knew - and felt - the effects of his work.

She bawled like a baby when she saw him tending to an old man, who slipped away peacefully with a smile on his face and his wife’s name on his lips. That, of course, had alarmed him, and he’d hugged her tightly - having learned that it was the easiest way to make her feel better - but she smiled and told him they were happy, sentimental tears, not offended at all as he probed into her mind and emotions as he tried to make sense of this strange new sentiment he had encountered.

She noticed that he would settle next to her when she was on watch duty. That night, in their little makeshift camp at the Crossroads, she asked him why. 

“Cole-bun,” she said softly, “you seem to enjoy spending time around me. Am I wrong?”

“No,” he shook his head. “You make the noises quiet. You’re like the other place, strange but familiar.”

“I make the noises quiet?” she asked, slightly alarmed.

“In a good way!” he exclaimed. “Distressed, saddened, grieved, so much hurt. In your shadow, mercy, hope, kindness, love. You make it brighter, cast out the darkness.”

“I don’t think I understand, my Cole-bun, but if it makes you feel better, I’m happy,” she said with a smile.

“When they smile, she smiles, a harmony bursting forth from the heart,” he murmured. She only half paid attention to him, the other part of her keeping a wary eye on the bright green-yellow eyes of the predators in the distance. Unthinkingly, she reached down her tunic to wrap her fingers around the amulet, reassured by the thrum it gave in response. When she realized what she was doing, she quickly pulled back her hand, mortified.

“He wonders if you think of him,” Cole’s voice reached her ears. “He thinks of you often, but wishes he didn’t. You want to, but you won’t let yourself. Why? Is it because he’s a wolf? But he’s not a bad wolf.”

“I… don’t know yet,” she said slowly.

“You’re scared he’ll hurt you. But he won’t. He’s not that kind! Alone, no one to call his own, he wanders wounded, worried, warping with the weight. But you’re here now, and it doesn’t hurt so much.”

“Cole,” she pleaded, “please. I cannot.”

“Alike, so alike, but so different. They’re all real to you. He doesn’t see them that way yet.”

“Cole,” she said quietly. “Cole-bun, I know you mean well. But I cannot think of him that way.”

“But he likes you,” Cole protested. “ _Gonun esem’sa_. He wanted to even before he heard the words, but he wouldn’t let himself. Now he knows, and yearns. He doesn’t want to die alone.”

She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to shield herself from what the spirit was telling her. Cole was breaking down her defenses, and making her want things she shouldn’t be wanting, and it scared her. She knew how sad and tortured Solas was - she’d played the game, seen it for herself, how many times had she sympathized with him, yearned to have him take her with him? But now, here, in reality, it was a different matter. Here, he wasn’t _just_ the sad, guilt-laden, lonely elf-god; he was a man who was arrogant and ruthless and would do everything he could to restore his world. Just how much ‘ _everything_ ’ included was unknown to her, and till she knew, she couldn’t afford to let herself get involved. And despite what Wisdom had said, there _was_ a good chance Solas would hurt her, if he thought her a threat, and it was a risk she couldn’t - wouldn’t - take.

“He won’t hurt you!” Cole exclaimed unhappily. “ _Beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, kind, I need her. Why does she stay away? I need her._ ”

“Cole, stop, please,” she pleaded.

“I’m hurting you,” Cole said, distressed. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay, Cole-bun. I know you didn’t.”

* * *

They reached the Dusklight camp by the next afternoon, the scouts camped there greeting them cheerfully as they rolled in with supplies. Food, clothing, potions and other necessities were unpacked and carefully put away. Samarra handed over a letter from Leliana to the head scout, directing the people there to offer Samarra and her companions any help they needed.

“Have you seen a dragon around here?” Samarra asked.

“We’ve seen one flying overhead,” one of the scouts admitted, “but we haven’t followed it. As long as it leaves us alone, we’re happy.”

“Is it going to give us any trouble?” a second scout asked worriedly.

“No,” Samarra assured them. “We are here to gather as much information as we can about it. That means collecting samples, and observing it from a distance. I’m not going to ask you to fight it.”

There was a distinct shift in the air as relief settled over all of them.

“Can you just tell me the general direction where it went?” she asked.

“It flew south,” the head scout said. “Down this way,” she traced a path on the map. “We think it’s settled in Lady Shayna’s valley. Freddie here says he spotted a bunch of dragonlings the other day.”

“Didn’t stay long enough to confirm,” he admitted with a sheepish smile. “Didn’t want to get roasted to death by those young’uns.”

“Any suggestions for a good vantage point?” Minaeve asked.

“There’s a long length of a tunnel here,” Freddie suggested. “As long as you don’t get too close to the exit, you should be fine. If the young’uns spot you, best get out of there quick. They’re nasty little beasties.”

“How far is it from here?” Samarra questioned.

“Not too far, ‘bout an hour’s trek from here,” Freddie replied. “Best not take the mounts. If she spots them they’ll make for easy pickings. Fine mounts you have, too - be a shame to lose them.”

“We’ll set out tomorrow after dawn,” she decided. “Minaeve, would you mind terribly unpacking the supplies? We should divide up the supplies, so we can maximize on collecting samples.

“Of course.”

“Well, we better get a little bit of rest while we can. Tomorrow’s going to be pretty tough. Cole-bun, stay by my side, okay? Minaeve, you’ll be behind us, and the Grand Enchanter can bring up the rear. That sound okay to everyone?”

Fiona and Minaeve nodded back at her. Cole’s attention was diverted to her rucksack. “Later,” he murmured, but no one paid attention to him. “You’ll use it later. You don’t want to hurt her.”

Late in the evening, she took out the sleeping potion from her pack, spiking the creature researcher’s waterskin with it. She watched guiltily as Minaeve drank deeply from it, knowing that the woman wouldn’t be able to wake up in time to leave with them.

She had no other choice. She needed to meet the dragon, and having Minaeve with her would only be a hindrance.

She sighed, and turned in for the night herself, whispering an apology to the sleeping form next to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da'assan - little arrow [term of endearment]
> 
> Ethas na - be safe/make yourself safe
> 
> Tas dar'eth - go safely as well
> 
> Ar juethan, Solas. Te'telsilan. - I will be safe, Solas. Don't worry.
> 
> She'juvegaran - return quickly
> 
> San, arani - okay, my friend [arani is used for informal friends, more like casual acquaintances, not like _falon_ ]
> 
> Dar'eth shiral, lethallan - go safely on your journey, close friend [lethallan used for friends who are so close they might as well be blood kin. So, arani 
> 
> I'm not bashing religion, or religious people! Samarra's beliefs are her own :)
> 
> I've been trying to force myself into a regular sleeping pattern... and that's caused all my creative juices to dry up. UGH. So basically, I'm tired all the time, which means I'm too grumpy to write, which makes me too grumpy to sleep, which makes me more tired.... %$#$#@#
> 
> To make shit worse, my laptop pretty close to breaking down. It's SO GODDAMN SLOW I want to tear my hair out. I knew it would happen eventually, just not so soon :(


	61. Dealing With Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samarra locates the Ferelden Frostback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought [or a different language]
> 
> Sentences in a different language are included as hovertext [mouse-over for instant translation!] and translations are also included in the notes below.
> 
> * * *

They moved as quietly as possible through the dense shrubbery, sunlight dappled over their forms. Cole seemed a little more serious, and hardly strayed from her side; whether that was a good omen or not Samarra couldn’t tell. The Grand Enchanter was stern-faced and silent, her guard up, her eyes constantly scanning the area around them warily.

Finally, as they got closer to the mouth of the tunnel, Samarra spoke up. “Grand Enchanter, if you are worried, perhaps you and Cole should stay in the tunnel. I will go further into the valley myself.”

Fiona set her jaw. “I have done enough wrong by my son. I will not have him fall to the Calling. If curing Alistair means facing this beast… I will do so gladly.”

“You are the Grand Enchanter,” Samarra pointed out softly. “You are needed by your mages, who look to you for guidance. You cannot afford to take a risk with your life, Fiona.”

The raven-haired elf looked uncertain. “You cannot possibly go alone,” she countered.

“Compassion will come,” Cole murmured.

“But that would mean leaving the Grand Enchanter alone,” Samarra frowned. 

“I will stay close to the tunnel, out of sight. I can serve as a lookout. Do not worry about me. Take the lad and do what you need to do.”

“Even if it means blood magic?” Samarra joked.

“If you think that is what is best,” the Grand Enchanter spoke up, assuredly. “I do not believe you would do anything that would be hazardous to you, or to your friends.”

“I was just joking, but hey, good to know,” she replied. _Guess she’s still got the Warden mentality in her..._

Leaving Fiona at the entrance to the tunnel, she made her way down the gloomy narrow path, having admonished the Grand Enchanter to retreat if she came across any dragonlings, or if she felt she was unsafe.

Lady Shayna’s Valley was isolated and stunning in the way desolate areas usually are. Tall stone cliffs surrounded the verdant valley, and only the smell of smoke and char in the air indicated that this was a dangerous place to be. The area was rocky, having once been a stone mine, and she could still see a few neatly-cut blocks of stone scattered around. Pools of water could be seen, and some had steam arising from them. How that had happened, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. From where she stood, she could see tall trees burning, sending spires of grey-black smoke into the air. Bones of various creatures - both animal and human - littered the area in gruesome ways, the flesh having being picked clean. A mighty roar sundered the air, and for the first time since she set out from Skyhold Samarra began to have misgivings.

She stepped out of the relative safety of the tunnel into the open valley. Immediately she drew the attention of three dragonlings, who bounded towards her aggressively, raring to protect what they considered their area. Samarra froze as she saw the mabari-sized beasts running towards her, their black scales shining in the sun as though they had been polished.

She could not deny the wild, vicious beauty they held.

“They’re always hungry,” Cole murmured. “She hunts, and hunts, but it’s never enough.”

_Gee, thanks Cole. Now I’m definitely NOT freaking out about becoming dragon food._

She could see one of the dragonlings gearing up to attack, opening its mouth to emit what she suspected would be fire breath. “Stop!” she called out desperately.

Only… the words weren’t in Common. Or any language she recognized.

But it seemed to do the trick. The three young dragons stopped short, cocking their heads to the side in confusion.

_["Ek bedoel geen kwaad. Ek wens net die hoed draak te praat. Jou ma.”]() _

Bewildered, they moved aside to let her pass, following on her tail as she entered deeper into the valley. And then they entered the Blood Cliffs.

The area had been pretty once upon a time, she had to admit. But now it was scorched, fires burning all around, ashes drifting in the air. The scent of death and devastation, of hunger and fury hung over them, and Samarra looked around warily, trying to spot the Ferelden Frostback. She didn’t have to wait long. There was a roar, the sound of wings flapping in the air, and the magnificent creature landed in front of Samarra, all yellow and orange and red and olive green scales forming wondrous patterns over its body.

It was massive. Sure, Samarra had known it would have been big, had seen the size of the red lyrium dragon, but this one? This one put the red lyrium one to shame. It was three fourths as tall as the rookery in Skyhold, its body a third the length of the curtain wall of the fortress. Its head was three times the size of Iron Bull, easily. Massive horns, each longer than the length of her body, adorned its head in a regal fashion. Samarra could only stare at it in awe.

And then it roared again, and Samarra could see the two rows of incredibly sharp teeth it had, each the size of half her forearm. She was blasted with the stench of rotting meat, and gagged.

“Talk to her!” Cole prodded her urgently.

_[“Groot edele draak, ek kom nie om te veg , maar jou raad te soek.”]() _

The dragon huffed, a great gust of steam pouring from her nostrils as she exhaled. _[“Wie is jy, mar dingetjie, wat praat mje taal?”]()_

_“[Ek is Samarra, edel mens. Ek is gestuur deur die geeste van die vervaag.”]()_

The dragon moved in closer, sniffing all around her. Samarra was terrified, but she stood straight, without moving.

["Vrees skink van jou, maar jy het dit verdien. Se my, kleintjie , wat raad wil julle van mje?”]()

["Ek wil die kuur vir die siekte van die bose leer.”]()

The Ferelden Frostback gazed down on her, wisdom, knowledge and grace writ across its face. _["Jy vra 'n groot verantwoordelikheid . Daar is diegene wat wil om jou dood te maak vir dit . Jy is net 'n bietjie arme ding, hoe sal jy die las skoue.”]()_

_["Ek veel las reeds gedra, edele vrou. Ek poog om hierdie wêreld 'n beter plek vir almal. Ek weet wat ek in die gesig staar, maar ek het nie my pad vrees.”]()_

The High Dragon was silent for a while. _[“Kom saam met mje,”]()_ she said at last. Samarra had to run to keep up with her, the High Dragon climbing up to its nest. The Frostback settled into a giant depression in the center of the area, curling up around itself. It no longer looked frightening, its eyes instead filled with a weariness. _[“Ek was diep in slaap mjet my skustehirs vir eeue , totdat ons wakker gemaak deur 'n twee vreemde en bekende. Sy het probeer om die grotes te wek, maar sy het 'n tekort die krag om dit te doen . Fjrool sy wkas , ons ontwaak tot 'n tyd waar die wêreld is onbekend . Ons honger het, want die ander vereld is uitgeroei uit ons. Ons kinders honger , wjant hulle het die oproep van die vervaag nie kan verstaan nie. Dit is die wêreld wat nooit moet wees."]()_

_[“Wat kjen ek doen om te hrejkp?”]() _

_[“Bevoordeel as jy is, moet jy seker maak die wêreld herstel om hjarmonie. Jy die reuk van die groot worolpf op jou kleintjie dra. Saam met hom.”]() _

_[“Maar hy wil sy volk teruggee en die wereld brand om dit te doen!"]() _

_[“Dam moet jy of verander sy gemoed, of hom te geen. Die wereld kan nie weer val.”]() _

_[“Ek sal al wat ek kjan doen, edele vrou.”]() _

_[“Seëninge van die jakkalse wees oor julle kleintjie . Julle sal die draak skip geword. Die geeste het jou bekend gemaak die pad. Dra jou mes en gryp jou lot.”]() _

Cole handed her one of his daggers silently. She stared into the eyes of the High Dragon, unsure what to do. She knew she needed to ‘allow her blood to flow with that of the dragon’, but Wisdom hadn’t been clear on how to do that. The Frostback huffed impatiently, letting out a snort of hot air. Emboldened, and letting her instincts take over, Samarra stepped closer to her head, standing on the side of the dragon’s muzzle. _[“Ek irs jammer vir de pyn,”]()_ she whispered apologetically, then made a small, narrow cut across the magnificent beast’s forehead. Blood began to well up out of the wound. Samarra quickly used the dagger to make a thin slice across both her palms, then pressed her hands against the wound on the dragon’s forehead.

A blinding flash of light. The scent of earth and woods. Cries of laughter, of pain, of grief.

She found herself in the middle of the dragon’s memories, of a time when they soared through the air, free and fearless. They were revered and embraced, serving as protectors of those who walked the waking world, guiding the spirits as they entered the waking world from the Fade. They watched indulgently over their children, smiling as they discovered the wonders of the waking world, exulting in the enchantment of the ones they guarded over.

Then something happened - the memories were jumbled up and tangled - and she saw the rise of the Evanuris. How they came about their powers was unclear, but it seemed to involve the Great Dragons. There was a lot of pain, sorrow and grief in the dragon’s memories, and Samarra found herself shedding silent tears in empathy. Blood coated the grounds, spilled from the guardians in torrents. Armies of the ones beloved by the dragons rose, clashing brutally and mercilessly against each other, and the dragons wept. She felt the earth shudder and tremble and fall unnaturally silent, and knew it was when Mythal had killed the Titan. Several millenia’s worth of memories rushed into her, and her heart was leaden, heavy, burdened with all the sorrow of it.

She felt old, older than the very ground she stood upon. Loss and grief settled into her bones, the price she was to pay for the boon she sought. She wept openly, sobbing as though her heart was breaking - but it was not her heart, it was the combined hearts of all the guardians who had been betrayed by the ones they were sworn to protect.

For a moment, she felt as though she could understand how much grief the old wolf was carrying, and she ached for him, too.

She pulled her hands away, their wounds having healed. To her surprise, Samarra noticed that the markings on her left arm were now bordered with red. Her veins thrummed with new power, and she felt different. As though she had passed through a wall of fire and had come out on the other side, unscathed, but aware of the ordeal. She had been but an impure ore, but had turned molten, forged and tempered by the wisdom and the knowledge bestowed upon her by the guardians of this world.

_[“Jy geleer het die waarheid, draak vartuig. Gebruik dit goed.”]() _

_[“Ek dank u vir u vriendelikheid, edele vrou . Ek sal nie toelaat dat jou gawe verlore gaan.”]() _

_[“Lewe lank en verstandig handel kleintjie. Jy is welkom hier te eniger tyd. Mje sjustiers sal ook julle goed ontvang . Al wat ek vra, is dat jy dit nie skade.”]() _

She bowed, and departed, stopping every so now and then to collect samples - dragon scales, dragon webbing, dragonling talons, dragon poop (which was tough, and had the Ferelden Frostback roaring in laughter), and she even found two dragon’s teeth. She held them up for the High Dragon to see, and the Frostback gave a short bark of laughter, rolling her eyes at the sight.

Cole, the sweetheart, had whiled away the time playing with the little dragonlings, murmuring soft things to them and soothing them. The sight of the pale, thin young lad with the oversized hat hunched over and surrounded by the mabari-sized dragonlings, all of them eager to get closer to him, listening intently to him, was beautiful, and Samarra found herself tucking away the sight carefully, wishing she had a camera to preserve the moment forever.

“Come on, cole-bun, it’s time to go,” she said softly.

He lifted his head. “They’re happier,” he said. “Not so hungry. They like you. You made their mother happy.”

“We did good then,” she agreed.

His watery blue eyes met hers. “You’re different now,” he said, stepping closer to her. “Older, wiser, stronger. You’re sad, too. Like the wolf, but you ache with the pain of those who cannot speak.”

She smiled a little crookedly. “I’m sad now, but I’ll be fine soon,” she consoled him. “Come on, let’s get back. Fiona must be worried.”

And indeed the Grand Enchanter was. When she caught sight of them, she rushed over. “Thank the Maker!” she exclaimed. “I was about to signal for help. You’ve been gone for hours! I thought you were dead.” She gave Samarra a once over. “I take it you were successful in what you set out to do?”

“Yes,” she answered tiredly. “We also brought back samples. We’ll stay another day or two, bring Minaeve along, make observations about the Ferelden Frostback, and then we can get back to Skyhold.”

“But what about the cure for the Blight?” Fiona persisted.

Samarra gave her a wan smile. “In time, Grand Enchanter. It’ll happen in time.”

When they returned back to camp, Minaeve was flustered and very apologetic for having slept in, and Samarra felt terribly guilty. She soothed the creature researcher, and showed the woman all the samples they had brought back, promising to return the next day for behavorial observations.

When her head hit her bedroll that night, she was already asleep.

* * *

_He_ waiting for her in his glen, the sight of it bringing her a measure of peace. Each time she visited him here, it was always at the tip of her tongue to ask him to show her where it was, in the waking world.

But he would ask her secrets as payment, and that she could not afford. So once again, as she had in the past, she swallowed the request.

His eyes raked over her form. Something about her figure seemed to alarm him, and he rose from where he sat and approached her, long strides easily covering the distance between them. “You are well?” he asked - no, demanded, and the tone set her back up instantly.

She fought down the feeling. _Lethallan_ , he’d called her. She knew the sorrow that lingered in his heart. She could afford to be kind.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “It has been a tiring day.”

“You located the dragon, then?”

“Yes. We managed to collect some samples. Tomorrow we head back once more. Minaeve tells me we should observe its flight patterns, to give us an idea of how Corypheus’ dragon moves in the air. Something to do about affording the chance to set up an early warning system for an aerial attack.”

“It sounds as though you have been productive,” he said carefully, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“There is something on your mind,” he observed keenly.

She hesitated for a brief moment, wondering what, if anything, she should divulge. She settled for a partial truth. “When we were observing the Ferelden Frostback,” she began softly, “seeing it soaring through the skies, all grace, and elegance, and beauty… I was awed in a way I cannot describe.”

He nodded understandingly. “They are magnificent creatures, fiercely protective of their own.”

“And it occurred to me then, that this dragon of Corypheus, that angry, twisted, violent creature… it had been corrupted so far away from what it once was. It is a travesty, Solas, that someone could be so sadistic as to suppress the freedom of a creature like that, and force it into servitude.” She sighed, and wrapped her arms around herself. “Cole says he is filled with nothing but darkness and hatred and malice. It should not come as a surprise to me that he is capable of doing that. And yet… it makes me sad, Solas. We will have to kill that dragon, and for no fault of its own save that it was unfortunate enough to be captured by a man who is the very embodiment of pure evil.”

“I am sure there are those who would disagree with you, _da’assan_ ,” he said cautiously. “Dragons have always been considered mindless beasts that leave havoc and destruction in their wake. I do not believe there will be many who will mourn the death of that creature.”

“No,” she agreed softly, “but you’re not one of them, are you?” she gave him a wan smile.

“I… will agree that they are marvellous creatures, intelligent and wise in their own way,” he hedged.

She sighed, and stared off into the distance, still not quite herself, still trying to find her bearings amidst everything she’d seen and learnt, and struggling to keep it all from the wolf who sat opposite her, ready to pounce at a moment’s weakness.

For an instant, she felt tired. So tired. What was she doing here? What was Dr. Samarra Bayart, Senior Medical Researcher, doing in this world, trying to rectify its wrongs? Why was she called upon to bring change? To sway the wolf from his path? Why had he brought her here?

“You are troubled tonight,” he said quietly, his eyes flickering over her face.

“I am troubled every night,” she confessed. “Today it is… worse than usual.”

“Perhaps the burden of your visions should not fall upon you alone.”

“You and I both know that cannot happen,” she remarked wryly. “It is not unbearable, Solas, but thank you for your concern.”

“ _Lethallan_ ,” he said, shifting closer to her, his eyes piercing and intense. “You are not alone.”

She thought of Dorian who loved wine and hated the sea, of Blackwall, seeking atonement, of Sera, ready to champion the cause of the common folk; of Varric with the loyal heart, Cassandra with her unshakeable faith, of Bull who took a paternal care of his men and women. Cole, compassion made manifest, Helena, who bore her trials and tribulations with a strong heart and a brave smile, of her healers, and the advisors, and all the people she had encountered who she cared deeply about.

And then she looked at him, the lone wolf sitting across her, holding her hand between his own; his eyes lit with sympathy and understanding, his heart yearning desperately for things his mind would not allow him to seek. 

In a moment of weakness, she lowered her defenses, and allowed herself to place a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I know,” she said softly, but what was left unsaid was far louder.

* * *

The next two days they returned to the tunnel, but maintained a safe distance from the dragonlings. Minaeve was excited and thrilled to see them playing around, making eager notes in her journal. She was good at sketching, too, making little diagrams of the dragonlings in various poses, and making a sketch of the patterns on the Ferelden Frostback’s body.

Samarra had a chance to look over the creature researcher’s notes when the returned to camp, as Minaeve excitedly regaled the scouts with what they’d seen. She couldn’t help but chuckle at the creature researcher’s descriptions of the dragonlings; she’d expected something more scientific and cut-and-dried, but instead it was quite flowery, poetic almost.

She inventoried all their samples, carefully isolating the samples of dung and charred flesh they’d collected from the rest, sealing it tightly in a crate and casting a containment spell over it. Everything was neatly labelled in either her hand, or Minaeve’s. Lists of instructions on what to do with each of them were placed inside the crates, a duplicate copy in the creature researcher’s journal.

All save for one sample.

The two dragon teeth that she had collected. They were long and sharp, and they thrummed with a power Samarra did not recognize, but she’d been given orders to keep them from the others. She knew one was for her. The other...

_[Vertel die wyolf wat die jakkalse kyk hom.]() _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations** :
> 
>  _Ek bedoel geen kwaad_ (I mean no harm) 
> 
> _Ek wens net die hoë draak te praat. Jou ma._ (I only wish to talk to the high dragon. Your mother.)
> 
>  _Groot edele draak, ek kom nie om te veg , maar jou raad te soek._ (Great noble dragon, I come not to fight, but to seek your counsel.)
> 
>  _Wie is jy, mar dingetjie, wat praat mje taal?_ (who are you, skinny little thing, who speaks my language?)
> 
>  _Ek is Samarra, edel mens. Ek is gestuur deur die geeste van die vervaag._ (I am Samarra, noble one. I was sent by the spirits of the Fade)
> 
>  _Vrees skink van jou, maar jy het dit verdien. Sê my, kleintjie , wat raad wil julle van mje?_ (Fear pours from you, but you are worthy. Tell me, little one what counsel do you seek of me?)
> 
>  _Ek wil die kuur vir die siekte van die bose leer._ (I wish to learn the cure for the blight)
> 
>  _Jy vra 'n groot verantwoordelikheid . Daar is diegene wat wil om jou dood te maak vir dit . Jy is net 'n bietjie arme ding, hoe sal jy die las skoue._ (you ask a great responsibility. There are those who would want to kill you for it. You are just a small, weak little thing, how will you shoulder the burden?)
> 
>  _Ek veel las reeds gedra, edele vrou. Ek poog om hierdie wêreld 'n beter plek vir almal. Ek weet wat ek in die gesig staar, maar ek het nie my pad vrees._ (I carry many burdens already, noble one. I seek to make this world a better place for all. I know what I face but I do not fear my path.)
> 
>  _Kom saam met mje_ (come with me)
> 
>  _Ek was diep in slaap mjet my skustehirs vir eeue , totdat ons wakker gemaak deur 'n twee vreemde en bekende. Sy het probeer om die grotes te wek, maar sy het 'n tekort die krag om dit te doen . Fjrool sy wkas , ons ontwaak tot 'n tyd waar die wêreld is onbekend . Ons honger het, want die ander vereld is uitgeroei uit ons. Ons kinders honger , wjant hulle het die oproep van die vervaag nie kan verstaan nie. Dit is die wêreld wat nooit moet wees._ (i was deep in slumber with my sisters for centuries, until we were awoken by one both strange and familiar. She sought to awaken the great ones, but she lacked the power to do so. Fool she was, awakening us to a time where the world is unfamiliar. We hunger, for the other world is cut off from us. Our children hunger, for they cannot understand the call of the fade. This is the world that must never be.)
> 
>  _Wat kjen ek doen om te hrejkp?_ (what can i do to help?)
> 
>  _Bevoordeel as jy is, moet jy seker maak die wêreld herstel om hjarmonie. Jy die reuk van die groot worolpf op jou kleintjie dra. Saam met hom._ (you bear the scent of the great wolf on you, little one. favored as you are, you must ensure this world is restored to harmony. Work with him.)
> 
>  _Maar hy wil sy volk teruggee en die wereld brand om dit te doen._ (But he wishes to restore his people, and will burn down this world in doing so.)
> 
>  _Dam moet jy of verander sy gemoed, of hom te geen. Die wereld kan nie weer val._ (then you must either change his mind or stop him. The world cannot fall again)
> 
>  _Ek sal al wat ek kjan doen, edele vrou._ (I will do all I can, noble one)
> 
>  _Seeninge van die jakkalse wees oor julle kleintjie . Julle sal die draak skip geword . Die geeste het jou bekend gemaak die pad . Dra jou mes en gryp jou lot._ (Blessings of the dragons be upon you little one. You shall become the dragon vessel. The spirits have shown you the way. Bear your blade, and seize your destiny)  
>  _Ek irs jammer vir de pyn_ (I am sorry for the pain)
> 
>  _Jy geleer het die waarheid, draak vartuig. Gebruik dit goed._ (you have learned the truth, dragon vessel. Use it well.)
> 
>  _Ek dank u vir u vriendelikheid, edele vrou . Ek sal nie toelaat dat jou gawe verlore gaan._ (I thank you for your kindness, noble one. I will not let your gift go to waste.)  
>     
>  _Lewe lank en verstandig handel kleintjie. Jy is welkom hier te eniger tyd. Mje sjustiers sal ook julle goed ontvang . Al wat ek vra, is dat jy dit nie skade._ (Live long and prosper, little one. You are welcome here at any time. My sisters too will receive you well. All I ask is that your kind not harm them.)
> 
>  _Vertel die wyolf wat die jakkalse kyk hom_ (tell the wolf the dragons watch him)
> 
> * * *
> 
> ... What just happened? :O


	62. Some Changes Are Irreversible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts of the mages of the Inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> So [theblackdomino](http://theblackdomino.tumblr.com/) sent me this really amazing picture of Samarra and the dragon. It's pretty sweet. Look at it!
> 
>   
>    
> 

** POV SOLAS **

She had been unusually quiet in the Fade, and that worried him.

The first few days she’d behaved as he’d expected her to - angry and frustrated, refusing to look at him when she spoke to him. Very predictable, and he’d found it rather amusing. It had also satisfied his ego to know that he was getting better at reading her, despite the facades she put up.

It would make her easier to manipulate.

But then, it had all changed, and he hadn’t understood why. She met him in the Fade the first night after encountering the dragon, and she had been quiet and withdrawn. She’d spoken to him, even confided in him, had accepted his concern and care, but she had changed. There was a weariness about her, a gloom that hung over her head and dimmed her bright light.

He could feel the slight shift in the magic of the fortress as she rode through the gates. She had come a day earlier than expected. It could be a cause for concern, or it could just be that they had found what they needed sooner than what they had planned for. He resumed his careful brush strokes, patiently waiting for her to enter the rotunda. She would have to. She would want the safety and privacy of her room after days on the road with company.

It was quite some time later when he heard the faint creak of the door opening. He was standing at his desk now, debating over the ratio of paints that would afford him the shade of red that he wanted. Finally, he settled on a lighter, burnished orange-red, the crimson reminding him too much of her hair. She moved to stand in front of the fresco, observing it in silence. “You are incredibly talented, Solas,” she said quietly, and a frisson of pride slid through him. He heard her exhale softly. “I’ll let you be,” she continued in that same, quiet, measured voice.

“Wait,” he called out, and she stilled. He noted, with alarm, the thin red border on her markings. He snatched up her arm, running his fingers over them, even more alarmed when she made no move to stop him.

He looked at her then, meeting her eyes for the first time since her return. They seemed older, wiser, _ancient_ , much like he felt. And then she blinked, and they were filled with annoyance, a sentiment he was familiar with.

“What have you done?” he asked quietly, frantically.

That ancient mask slipped over her eyes once again. “What needed to be done,” she replied just as quietly, and pulled her hand free from his grasp.

He watched her walk away, uneasiness filling his mind.

He searched the Fade for any memory of her interaction with the dragon, but he found none. Her companions behaved as though nothing out of the ordinary had taken place, although he found it rather suspicious that the creature researcher had overslept the first day. His subtle questioning of the Grand Enchanter produced no results either; the woman had been only too happy to discuss the various fecal samples they had procured.

Cole was tight lipped as usual, the lad fiercely protective of Samarra. She had pleaded with him to keep her secrets, and it appeared as though he very definitely intended to do so. He would only tell him that he made the dragonlings happy, which Solas knew was something Compassion would do.

It would have all been fine, had it not been for the fact that she was avoiding him.

And she was doing it subtle ways. He could not fault her for avoiding him when she was kept busy with one thing or another. She spent a great deal of time with the Inquisition’s newly-acquired arcanist, discussing what, he had no idea about. Which made him very resentful. She would spend time at the tavern, sharing drinks with companions and strangers alike. He’d observed her once, head tilted back in laughter as she raised her mug for a cheer. She would curl up in the library for long hours, engrossed in one book or another. He knew, just as she did, that she could read in the privacy of the rotunda, and he knew, just as she did, that she would not, because she was avoiding him.

And then, four days after her return from the Hinterlands, and the day before the Inquisitor was due back from the Mire, the magister’s son showed up in Skyhold.

Even Solas had to admit the young man looked dreadful. His eyes were sunken, and he looked gaunt. He was clearly tottering on the edge of death. But Samarra had greeted him warmly, and had guided Felix to his accommodations cheerfully, either deliberately ignoring the fact that the young man was going to die, or… confident that she would be able to heal him.

He knew it would be the latter. His _fen’leal_ was the kind to work miracles.

So he followed them quietly, unseen, drawing the Fade around him so that he would not be noticed. He entered the room behind her, moving quietly to the far corner where he could observe the proceedings clearly.

“You look terrible,” she joked, smiling brightly at the young man.

He smiled bleakly. “I don’t have much time,” he said. “I don’t know why I came back, actually. I should have stayed behind in Minrathous, dealt with my father’s affairs, but Dorian… he was so hopeful. I couldn’t let him down.”

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay to hope, Felix. There’s no shame in admitting it.”

He looked away, shamefaced. “I shouldn’t,” he said quietly. “I know there’s no cure for it. And yet…” he sighed. “I can’t help but hope.”

“Felix,” she said calmly, softly. “I can help you. But you must promise me two things. One, that you trust me. Two, that you will never, ever, ever breathe a word of what happens in this room to anyone. Anyone. Do you agree?”

He looked startled, but hope blossomed on his face like a dawn after a stormy night. “I trust you with all my heart,” he vowed, “And I swear upon everything that is holy that I will take this secret with me to my death.”

“Very well,” she said. “A blood pact, then.” She drew out a thin, slender, sharp knife, and sliced his palm, then hers. Before Felix could object, before _he_ could object, she clasped his hand with hers. 

“ _["Ar mala lasan na revas]()_ ,” she said softly, and a pulse of white light moved from her palm into his.

Felix pulled back his hand, horrified. “You should not have done that!” he exclaimed in horror. “I am infected. Now you will be, too. Why did you do it?”

“Felix,” she said with a gentle smile, “ _["Te do vos tua salutem. Bene vivere.]()_ ” 

She left the magister’s son standing in the middle of the room, gazing at his palm in confusion. Solas took advantage of his confusion to slip out quietly, retiring to his rooms to contemplate what he had seen.

He paced the length of his room, restless and angry. _Her blood_. He could not stop thinking of her blood, the scent of it, rich, sumptuous, full-bodied. The power in it had filled the room, a effusive symphony, a melody he wanted with a desperation in him. It crackled with the power of her life, with the essence of her, and he wanted, no, needed to taste it, to feed on it, to twine his magic into her so that her very blood would sing of his possession… He hissed sharply, and willed his own blood to cool. 

He was positive she had received this new boost to her power recently. Say, perhaps, after an interaction with a dragon?

How had she managed it? _How had she known?_

Once again, she’d turned into a mystery. _I now grant you freedom. Freedom from what? _I give you your health. Live well.__ How? All she had done was…

Realization dawned, and he sat down heavily on the edge of his bed. Of course. _Of course._

It had come full circle, at last.

His grin was toothy and feral. _Little one, you will be mine._

* * *

** POV DORIAN **

He wasn’t surprised to find Samarra waiting at the gates for them, a wide smile on her face. He watched, with a sour look on his face, as she visibly recoiled once the stench of them hit her nose.

“I, ahh…” she was clearly struggling to talk, having held her nose, “I’ll check in with you lot later… once you’re, ahhh, cleaner.” She grinned mischievously at them, then directed her attention to the caravan behind them. He watched, amazed, as her face turned business-like. “Are those the injured soldiers?” she asked.

Helena nodded, and said something, but it was clear Samarra only paid half an ear to it. She’d already moved past them towards the caravan, ignoring the fact that Vivienne and Sera were directing some very heated glares towards her.

A booming voice rang out. “Is this your augur, then?”

Ahh, yes. The burly Avvar man who had heard their talk of Samarra, and had taken it as a sign from his Lady of the Skies that he was to aid the Inquisition. He could hardly wait to see how Samarra would react upon laying her eyes on his massive figure.

He was sorely disappointed. She turned to the Avvar, a bright smile on her face - _seriously, did she ever not smile like that? It was rather aggravating, her cheeriness_ \- and greeted him familiarly. “Hello, Amund! I’m so very happy you’re lending your aid to the Inquisition. It is most welcome.”

Amund grunted. “Your augur serves you well, Herald. Tell me, lady augur, how am I to serve?”

Samarra was too focused on examining the wounded soldiers to pay full attention to him. “We all have our duties,” she replied abstractly, and it seemed to go over well with the burly Avvar man. 

Well. Yet another person who fell to the charms of that crimson-haired minx.

“Oh, Dorian,” she called out as though just having remembered something. “Felix arrived yesterday. He’s resting in his room. It’s the first room on the right, of the front courtyard. You’d better get yourself cleaned before you visit him.”

 _Felix was here_. Suddenly, he didn’t care much for the state of his clothes, or the nauseating smell emanating from him. He moved as quickly as he could to his room, ignoring the grimace the elven apostate directed at him as he walked up the stairs. Pulling off his clothes, and burning them to ashes, he sank into the bathtub that had been prepared for him - Samarra’s doing, no doubt, bless her heart - and sighed pleasurably as the muck and filth and decay slid off his skin. He drained the tub and refilled it a second time, using his favored scented soaps and oils to cleanse himself.

His ablutions over, he quickly pulled on a fresh set of clothing, and exited his room hurriedly. He made his way over to Felix’s room, and knocked gingerly on the door. Anxiety and worry flooded into him. How would he look? Was his dearest friend doomed to die?

The door swung open, and Dorian staggered backwards in shock.

Felix was _healthy_. There was no sign of the blight sickness in him, no spidery, blackened veins on his hands or his neck, no dark circles around his eyes. Everything about him screamed life and vitality.

“But.. but… _**how**_?” he breathed, stunned.

Felix gave him a grin, so much like the one he remembered from the time he was Alexius’ apprentice. “She did it, Dorian. She found a way.”

Dorian entered the room and sank down on the nearest chair. Felix shut the door behind him, a knowing look on his face. “I know. I couldn’t believe it either, Dorian. Yesterday, I was positive I was going to die. I’d barely been hanging on from the time I departed Minrathous. And then today… well, you can see me. It’s like… that attack never happened.”

“But how, Felix?” he asked.

Felix looked uncomfortable. “I swore I wouldn’t share any details, Dorian,” he mumbled. “If you want to know, ask Samarra.”

“This.. this is a miracle! Do you know what this means?”

“That if people find out, Samarra will be hounded and hunted by a lot of people?” Felix stated quietly. His friend’s statement shut him up. It was true. If anyone found out that Samarra knew a way to cure blight sickness, it would make her the most wanted person in Thedas. And she didn’t deserve that, especially after she had done the kindness of saving the life of his closest friend.

“If only Alexius has looked in this direction,” Dorian smiled bitterly, “he wouldn’t be in his current situation.”

“Where _is_ my father?,” Felix asked hesitantly.

“He’s being held in the dungeons at Redcliffe. There are rumors circulating that the King and Queen of Ferelden will send him to the Inquisition for judgement, but those are only rumors so far. Felix,” he said reluctantly, “what Alexius did… was monstrous. Unforgivable, even. Blood magic is severely frowned upon here. And the fact that he took over Redcliffe Village, and chased out the arl… I don’t hold out much hope for mercy for him.”

Felix’s shoulders slumped. “I know,” he said softly. “I hate that he did it all for me. I hate that he joined that group of crazy cultists, when, had he looked in the _right_ direction, he would have found the help he was looking for. When I think of my father, and all the good he _could_ have done were he just working with the right people… Dorian, he’s my _father_. I can’t but hope for a miracle.”

“You’ve received a miracle, Felix,” Dorian murmured. “There’s no reason to think that your father can’t get one, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> [elvish] _Ar mala lasan na revas_ \- I now grant you your freedom.
> 
> [tevene] _Te do vos tua salutem. Bene vivere._ I give you your health. Live well.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I thought this chapter was longer than it was, but it wasn't. So have a bonus chapter :D
> 
> The last chapter made me really sad that I'm not an artist. I've had the image of Cole playing with the dragonlings as mama dragon and mama-bear Samarra look on fondly. WHY CAN'T I DRAW DAMMIT.
> 
> If you want someone to chat about dragon age theories with, you can always find me on [tumblr!](http://roguelioness.tumblr.com/).


	63. Protectors, Keepers and Champions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyhold gets some new and interesting additions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Six month milestone! Started this story in June. It's November now, and it's still going. And we haven't even gotten to Crestwood, whaaaaaaat.

“So I take it the Fallow Mire went well?” Samarra teased.

Helena gave her a baleful look. “While I am positively delighted we were able to rescue all our men, and gain an agent, I hope to Andraste that I never have to deal with the undead again.”

She tried to keep a straight face. She really did. It didn’t work very well, though, her lips twitched the slightest, and Helena caught sight of it.

“Sweet Maker, that wasn’t the last of the undead, was it?” Helena threw her hands up in the air.

“.... No,” she admitted.

“I’m _so taking you_ with me the next time,” Helena threatened. “I don’t see why I should undertake all the dirty tasks by myself.”

“Hey!” she protested. “I was collecting dragon shit. _Dragon. Shit._ Do you even know how much they shit?”

“Yeah, well, you _wanted_ to do that, it’s different.”

“Children, play nicely,” Leliana interjected, amused.

“I meant to ask,” Helena began hesitantly. “The abomination? Widris? How is she faring?”

“I will be talking to her later. She is still sleeping. I’m guessing someone kept giving her sleeping potions,” she said disapprovingly.

Helena sighed. “You have to understand, it was a close call. We managed to track her down. She summoned wraiths to attack us, and Bull and Vivienne were all for slaughtering her and being done with it. Dorian persuaded me to give it a shot. It actually worked. I couldn't believe it then... I can’t believe it. The moment I told her exactly what you told me. I told her that the Keeper forgives her. And Maker, Samarra, you should have been there to see what happened. I still can’t believe it. She instantly collapsed onto her knees, weeping, saying sorry over and over again. Blackwall and Sera dealt with the wraiths pretty easily. But I had to deal with three very unhappy people on the trip back, and I explained to Widris the situation. She was okay with taking the potions, she understood.”

Cullen was glowering at her. “I would like to officially state that I am **not** happy about the fact that we have an abomination walking around our fortress,” he griped.

“You’ll be changing your tune in a few weeks, Cullen,” she said quietly. “Do you think we have seen the last of battle? More fool you, if you think that is the case.”

That seemed to sober him. “I wish you would tell us more,” he said at last.

“And you know well why I cannot. Suffice to say - I will deal with Widris. You are welcome to accompany me when I talk with her, if you like.”

“I will do so. And I believe I will ask Solas to accompany us. He is well-versed in the Fade, perhaps he will be of help.”

She shrugged, but she wasn’t happy. “If it will reassure you.”

“What next? Helena asked.

“The civil war between Grand Duke Gaspard and Empress Celene is already causing chaos in Orlais,” Josephine noted worriedly. “Although rumors of a tentative ceasefire are circulating. I have not yet succeeded in making contact with the Empress. Someone seems to be interrupting my messages.”

“What about the demon army?” Helena questioned.

“We have no leads about where Corypheus plans to summon them,” Leliana said, exasperated. “He will need mages to summon the demons. Where is he finding the mages? We have allied with the majority of them.”

There was a knock at the door. Josephine opened the doors, revealing a very hesitant-looking Varric standing at the threshold. “I, uhh, heard that you’re having some issues getting information about Corypheus,” he began. “I know someone who can help,” he said in that usual cheeky way of his. “Everyone’s been acting so inspirational lately, it jogged my memory. So I sent a message to a couple of old friends.” He cleared his throat. “They’ve, uhh, crossed paths with Corypheus before, and may know more about what he’s doing. They can help.” He looked to her for something, and she nodded. _I promised you I’d keep the Hawkes safe, Varric. I will do everything I can to make that happen. I swear it._

“We could always use new allies,” Helena said, even as Samarra hid a smile. “Introduce me.”

Varric looked around warily. “They’ll be here in a day or two. I’ll come get you when they get here. They might.. cause a fuss.” He sighed. “Trust me. It’s complicated.” He ran his hand over his head, and left.

Leliana and Josephine shared a look.

“Well,” Josephine said, somewhat confused, “We stand ready to move ahead. I will keep looking into the possibility of gaining an audience with the Empress.”

Leliana hardly heard her. “If Varric is bringing who I think he is… Cassandra is going to kill him.”

Samarra chuckled. “Oh, most definitely.” She caught Leliana’s eye, and they shared a short laugh while the other three looked confused.

* * *

She headed over to the infirmary, the Commander and Solas trailing behind her, to the quiet corner in the second floor meant for patients who needed to kept isolated. A malnourished, pale-looking woman with mousy brown hair was lying on the cot, her eyes open and registering the sounds around her.

“Hello,” Samarra called out quietly. The woman gave a start, and turned her head to look at her. Fearful brown eyes met hers, and she moved to sit up. Samarra helped her up, noting with dismay how thin and frail her body felt. 

“Where am I?” Widris asked.

“You are at Skyhold,” she said calmly. “I am Samarra. The man over there is Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition forces. And the other man is Solas. He is a mage. We aren’t here to hurt you,” she soothed.

Widris licked her lips. “The woman with the glowing hand… she said… she said the Keeper forgives me,” she said in a trembling voice. “Where is the Keeper?”

She didn’t know what to say, but Solas spoke up. “You are speaking to her, _da’len_.”

Wide eyes met her once again. “You are the Keeper?”

“Yes?” she replied cautiously.

Widris flung herself at her, startling Cullen, who immediately reached for his sword. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed against her shoulder. “She meant to help, and I hurt her. I’m so sorry!”

“Hush, now, quiet down. You have done enough damage, you cannot feel sorry for yourself,” she said firmly. “Courage came to help you as you were fleeing the templars, did she not? And she offered you her help, for she saw you were lacking. Come now, Widris, you cannot let your fear overwhelm you again. There is nothing to fear. You are safe here. We won’t hurt you.”

Widris’ eyes flashed blue. 

“ _["Amelan,]()”_ a rough, feminine spoke.

_“["Elgar’rogathe,]()”_ she greeted. _“[An’eth’ara.]()”_

She could hear Solas quietly translating to Cullen in the background.

_[“Ahnsul ma lanas’em lanaste?”]() _

_[“Ga’lin gonathe lanaste.”]() _

_[“Ar daleman alin.”]() _

_[“Ar i’daleman alin. Ar dalan vhen dalemah’ehn alin. Jutunas’em?”]() _

_[“Mar’lan amelan. Na unshivanem.”]() _

_[“Ame amelan, vin? Na drualan. Ar lanan’em enaste.”]() _

_[“Amelan. Ame tel’gonathe.”]()_ Widris - or rather, Courage - buried her head in Samarra’s lap, quietly weeping.

_[“Sha, elgar’ma. Ane gonathe. Na eman viraju tath. Ane halani’ma?”]() _

_[“Vin, amelan. Na rajas’em, ar jumyan.”]()_

_[“Ane gonathe. Na tel’silaiman. Ha’mi’in, tel’silaiman lam. Ane mala ladarelan”]() _

_[“Ar myan na rajathe, amelan.”]() _

_[“Emaronan mar’lin i’aralan,”]()_ she said softly. _[“Ar tel’nuvenan raja.”]()_

_[“Amelan,”]()_ Courage whispered, _[“Ane tundra.”]()_

She lifted Widris from her lap. “Widris,” she said kindly, but firmly, “listen well. You are lucky, so very lucky, to have Courage with you. Now you must live up to her. If you serve her well, she will serve you well. If you twist her into madness, I will kill you myself. Do you understand?”

Widris nodded, tears leaking from her eyes.

“Forget the past. From tomorrow, you begin anew. I know you are a healer, and so that is what you will do. I will give you accommodations, and you will report to me as Chief of the Infirmary. You will do your duty, and you will do it with pride. No more cowering. No more fear. Keep your head raised, you have courage on your side.”

Widris burst into tears again. “Thank you, thank you, I promise I won’t let you down, I’ll do everything right, I promise.”

She rubbed Widris’ back soothingly. “Come now, enough tears. I will have Everna come up, she will show you to your room, and I’ll have someone bring up a meal. Rest for today. You can start work tomorrow.”

She left an effusive Widris behind, feeling rather emotionally drained. “Well, Commander?” she asked, quirking a brow at Cullen once they were outside the building. “Do you think she poses a danger?”

“She seems… stable for now,” he admitted, “but I will keep an eye on her for some time, just to be safe.”

She sighed. “Fair enough.” Cullen returned to his office, and she began the walk back to her room, wanting some peace and quiet before the madness began. Which it inevitably would, once the Hawkes arrived at Skyhold.

“Why did the spirit refer to you as Keeper?” Solas inquired.

“I have no idea,” she replied tiredly. “I first heard the word in a vision. How did you know it referred to me?” she asked.

“If you were the one who gave the instructions to Helena, it only follows that you are the Keeper,” he replied evenly. “ _Amelan_ refers to protector, or guardian. For some reason, that spirit believes you are its protector.”

“Well, I did technically threaten to kill Widris if she twisted Courage,” she joked.

He didn’t laugh, instead eyeing her speculatively. “Have you been conversing with spirits in the Fade?” he asked suddenly.

“Well there _was_ that one time I tried talking to a desire demon, and you _totally_ ripped into me,” she deflected.

“That was a demon, not a spirit,” he said levelly.

“Wasn’t it you who said the difference between the two was intent?” she challenged. “So for all _intents_ and purposes, that was a spirit I was talking to. Anyway, this little chat has been fun, but I want to sneak in a nap before I meet up with Felix and Dorian at the tavern,” she chirped. “I’ll catch you later, Solas,” she said cheerily as she shut the door in his face.

* * *

She was lurking around the battlements, waiting to catch a glimpse of them. Garrett and Marian Hawke, twins, troublemakers, Champions of Kirkwall. How many times had she laughed with them, hurt with them, cried with them? They were a part of who she was.

The Inquisitor and Varric were waiting in the secluded battlement, out of sight of most of the fortress.

“Well, who do we have here?” a deep, amused voice spoke up from behind her.

She froze, and turned around slowly.

There, in all his armored glory, stood Garrett Hawke.

_Oh my._

Short, windswept black hair. A strong, masculine jaw covered in the faint shadow of stubble. Warm, piercing brown eyes filled with humor, but flickering with the kind of wisdom that comes from experience. She had an irrational jealousy of how pretty his eyebrows were. His nose was aquiline, and his mouth was set firmly, confidence etched around the corners of his lips.

There was a deep red scar across his nose.

His lips turned upwards into a smirk, and she could only watch dazedly. A second voice chimed in. “Garrett, stop flustering that poor woman.”

She turned her attention to the new voice.

Marian Hawke was the kind of woman anyone would have to be blind to ignore. Teal blue eyes shone with an intensity as sharp as the daggers on her hip. Raven black hair chopped into a neat bob. Her jaw was slender, tapering to an elegant point that made you want to pinch her chin. A nose very much like her brother’s, with a scar to match his, lips that were thin but seemed to be perpetually twisted into a smirk.

She’d seen both of them. She’d created both of them. And yet, to see them here, live in the flesh… they were _magnificent_.

“Looks like the cat got someone’s tongue,” Marian smirked.

“Marian, Garrett, the Inquisitor’s waiting for… who are you two looking at?” Varric caught sight of her, and groaned. “Oh, for crying out loud. I should’ve known you’d be here, Crimson.”

She snapped out of her reverie. “I was the one who told you to contact them, Varric. It’d be rude to keep me out of it.”

Her statement had the twins glancing curiously at her. Varric sighed. “Garrett, Marian, this is Samarra. She’s our resident seeress.”

Garrett scoffed. “I didn’t think you were the type to fall for a charlatan, Varric.”

She smiled pleasantly. “I’m officially the Chief Surgeon and Head of the Infirmary.”

“And she can see the future. No shit, Waffles, she’s the real deal.”

“So what do you do?” Marian asked curiously. “Predict the future?”

Samarra laughed. “If only it were that simple! No. I receive visions, it’s true. And then I keep most of them to myself. If what I see is particularly bad,” her mouth drooped, “I work behind the scenes to try and manipulate things to get the best outcome for everyone.”

“The attack on Haven?” Garrett challenged.

She sighed. “Unavoidable, and would have been _so much worse_ had I interfered in any other way. Some things cannot be avoided, Garrett Hawke. Look, I’m not here to argue about whether or not I’m genuine. I’m here to help the Inquisition - just as you are. I know the two of you faced Corypheus before, and I know you killed him then. We’re all on the same side here.”

Varric grunted. “Come on. You’ll need to meet with the Inquisitor.”

“No problem Varric, I’m right here,” Helena said cheerfully.

“Inquisitor, I’d like you to meet Marian and Garrett Hawke, Champions of Kirkwall.”

Marian grimaced. “Although we don’t use that title very much anymore.”

“Garrett, Marian, the Inquisitor. I figured you might have some friendly advice about Corypheus. We did fight him, after all.”

Helena looked surprised at Varric’s statement. “You fought Corypheus before?”

“Fought _**and**_ killed,” Garrett said grimly. “He was on that floor, dead, when we were done with him.”

Helena pinched the bridge of her nose. “Samarra, you knew about this, didn’t you?”

She shrugged. 

“This is getting really annoying,” Helena muttered. “Alright. Let’s start at the beginning. How did you first learn about Corypheus?”

“Short version? Corypheus is a darkspawn. For some reason, the Grey Wardens couldn’t kill him, so they had him imprisoned. They used my father’s blood in a ritual to seal Corypheus inside. But he could still reach out and influence the Warden’s thoughts. He sent them after Garrett and me.”

“Corypheus got into their heads,” Varric said dourly. “Messed with their minds. Turned them against each other.”

“Maker’s balls,” Helena slumped against the stone wall. “The missing Grey Wardens. Does it have something to do with Corypheus?”

“If the Wardens have disappeared,” Garrett sounded forbidding, “they could have fallen under his control again.”

“Samarra?” Helena questioned.

“It… is true,” she admitted.

“Fuck.” The Inquisitor swore softly. “If that’s what happened to the Wardens, do you think we can free them?”

Garrett looked thoughtful. “It’s possible. But we need to know more first.” He exchanged a look with his sister. “We’ve got friends in the Wardens who were investigating something unrelated for us. The last time we spoke, they mentioned something about corruption in the Warden ranks. Since then… nothing.”

Her arm began tingling. A vision in her mind opened up to the cave in Crestwood, where three men in Warden armor were standing around a table scattered with documents and maps. She could only see their backs, and wondered who they were. Then they turned around, faces set and grim.

She gasped in horror.

Alistair, Stroud and… _Anders_.

They all seemed to be waiting for something… or someone. She was snapped out of the vision brusquely, her head reeling with the new information.

_Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck I’m so screwed oh my fuck what the fuck am I going to do. What am I going to do._

“Samarra?” Helena was shaking her slightly. “Are you okay?”

“The Warden contacts,” she gasped out. “Are waiting for you in Crestwood. Oh, Christ on a cracker. There are _three_ of them. Three. What am I going to do when there are three of them?”

Marian frowned. “Garrett and I have one contact each,” she said, her brows raised.

Samarra nodded distractedly. “Alistair and Stroud. I know. _But Anders is with them_.”

The three Kirkwallers froze.

“Blondie?” Varric was shocked.

“Makes sense,” Marian said bitterly. “Where else could he go after fucking things up in Kirkwall? I told you we should have killed him,” she spat at Garrett.

“He did not deserve the easy way out after what he did,” Garrett said quietly. “He deserved to see and experience the consequences of his actions.” His eyes were troubled. “He saved our lives many times, Marian.”

“He is an abomination,” she spat. “Just like every mage is.”

“He is a man who was forced to show Thedas what it truly means to be a mage,” Samarra hissed. “Do I condone his blowing up a building with innocent people? Of course not. But imagine, if you can, the fact that mages have been imprisoned, killed, or made tranquil for _a thousand years_. Imagine that you’re a mage, and you’re being told, over and over again, that you aren’t a _real_ person. Imagine being ripped away from your family as a child, told that you’re cursed, and never being able to see your parents or siblings again. Imagine being told your _very existence_ is a sin. Imagine being kept under guard your entire life. Imagine living a life where you’re told what to do every single moment you’re awake. And if you mess up, your guards kill you.

Imagine being forced into the Fade as little more than a child, straight into the waiting arms of a demon. Fail, and you’re killed. Take too long, and you’re killed. And even when you pass, nothing changes. You’re still a prisoner, prone to mistreatment from sadistic jailers who will beat you, rape you, and you can’t fight against them, because if you do, they’ll make you tranquil.

Imagine having no privacy. No chance for love, for affection, for companionship. Imagine having _absolutely no freedom_. Imagine a world so cruel that the only way out is to _die at your own hand_.

Imagine if _EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON_ in Thedas was forced to undergo that. Tell me, wouldn’t someone rise up? Wouldn’t someone do something mad out of sheer desperation? Anders is the result of _centuries_ of mistreatment, of a culture where fear is fostered and stoked, where people like your father, your brother… _me_... are considered as little better than beasts only because we have a talent you don’t. How is that fair? If mages were treated better, and brought up in less fear, we wouldn’t have to _worry_ about possession. How many mages have succumbed to possession out of desperation? Out of fear? Out of helplessness?” her mouth twisted bitterly. “How many mages have the templars killed over the years? And yet no one sheds a tear for them.” 

She turned, her fists clenched, and walked away from them. She took deep breaths to calm herself down. _Why does this world need saving?_ She thought angrily. _Maybe it’s best if it burns. Maybe it’s better if I let Solas do what he plans to do. There is far too much cruelty in this world._

_Calm down, sweetness. You don’t mean that. Yes, there is cruelty and injustice in this world. Earth wasn’t much better. There’s no such thing as a perfect place, is there? You need to make things better, need to work at it._

Someone placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry about my sister,” Garrett said quietly. “She loved Anders like a brother. His betrayal cut us both deeply.”

“You’re a mage, Garrett,” she said quietly. “How can you excuse what she said?”

“I’m not. What she said was cruel. I just… wanted to offer you a clearer picture of things from her side.”

She faced him, weariness on her face. Hadn’t she felt the betrayal at Ander’s act? Hadn’t she been so very angry at him? She’d killed him for the deed on several playthroughs, hadn’t she? How could she blame Marian for feeling betrayed? “I can’t imagine how it must have been like for the two of you. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight… I’ll apologize.”

“Don’t,” he said firmly. “She needed to hear it. Too many people call him a monster, an abomination. Yes, he wasn’t himself in the end, too far gone into the depths of madness thanks to Justice. But not enough people talk about how and why he ended up that way. A man doesn’t go insane overnight.”

She sighed. “I still shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. It’s just that…” she rubbed her nose bashfully, “mages are a subject close to my heart.”

“Clearly,” he grinned, and her stomach gave a little flip. “Are you an apostate, too?”

“I am… complicated,” she confessed. “I only came into my abilities… what, about a year ago?”

“You weren’t a mage all your life?” he seemed confused.

“I don’t know.” She gave him the same rundown on her past as she had the others. “So I’m not sure if I just had them all along, dormant, or if my mentor’s ritual did something to me,” she sighed.

“You weren’t joking when you said you were complicated,” he teased.

She laughed. 

“How did you learn to gain control of your power?” he was curious.

“Solas - our resident elven apostate, and incredibly knowledgeable about the Fade, and rarer forms of magics - was around to help me. We theorize that these marks-” she raised her left hand, “helped me to control my power faster than most mages. What the markings actually signify we don’t know, but I think it might have something to do with the visions I get.”

He leaned back against the wall, adjusting his posture until he found a comfortable position. “So, what do you really think about Anders?”

“I’ll let you know after I’ve met him. I can sympathize with how he felt, but I also feel like there could have been a better way.” She sighed. “Kirkwall was pretty far gone by that point, though. Personally, Elthina was just as bad as Meredith. She should’ve said something, done something. Mages being made tranquil on a daily basis? Coming under attack by templars? Why would she not say anything?”

“Personally, I think the woman was a bit of a Chantry apologist,” he snorted. “But don’t tell anyone that. I don’t think they’d appreciate it.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” she joked. She turned her attention back to where Helena and Marian were conversing. “Wanna bet your twin hates me?”

“No,” he smiled. “She did side with the mages in Kirkwall.”

“I thought that was for your sake,” she said lightly. “You know, with you being… what you are.” She gave him a meaningful, knowing wink.

He gave her an unamused look. “It’s not something anyone knows about, and I’d appreciate if it stays that way.”

“What? That you’re a mage, or that you’re a blood mage?”

He looked downright exasperated. “The latter, naturally.”

“Sure,” she shrugged. 

Marian walked over to join them. “So, you’re a healer, huh? Varric says you’re a damn good one. ‘Better than Blondie’ were his exact words, I believe.” Her tone was conciliatory,and Samarra took it as the apology it was intended as.

She laughed. “That’s flattering. I’m… pretty good, if I say so myself.” She remembered Widris. “Oh shit, I forgot about Widris. I have to check in on her.”

“Sounds like she’s someone special.”

“Widris is Samarra’s latest pet project,” Helena chuckled. “I came across her in the Fallow Mire, an abomination. Told her what the seeress here told me to tell her, and I swear, she just followed along like a lost little puppy.”

Marian looked horrified. “You have an abomination? Here? Are you insane?”

“I have a spirit healer who is very talented,” she said coolly. “We will very much appreciate her services in the days to come. As a matter of fact, I daresay _you_ will very much appreciate her talent in the future.”

Neither of the twins seemed convinced. She sighed. “Widris was alone, lost and terrified, hunted down by templars when a spirit of Courage offered to help her. Her fear was too great, and the spirit inside her became twisted. You know how that is - you have seen what happens when a person’s emotions are too intense for a spirit to deal with. You can check with Commander Cullen - I believe the two of you know him already - and he will confirm that Widris is not a threat, not anymore.”

Garrett looked speculative. “If she turned from an abomination... perhaps there is hope for Anders yet.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “Only time will tell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> _Amelan_ (Keeper)
> 
> _Elgar’rogathe. An’eth’ara._ (spirit of Courage. Greetings. This is a safe place.)
> 
> _Ahnsul ma lanas’em lanaste?_ (why do you show me mercy)
> 
> _Ga’lin gonathe lanaste._ (everyone is worthy of mercy)
> 
> _Ar daleman alin._ (I have killed others)
> 
> _Ar i’daleman alin. Ar dalan vhen dalemah’ehn alin. Jutunas’em?_ (I have also killed others. I kill those who were about to kill others. Would you punish me?)
> 
> _Mar’lan amelan. Na unshivanem._ (you are the Keeper. You did your duty)
> 
> _Ame amelan, vin? Na drualan. Ar lanan’em enaste._ (I am the Keeper, yes? I give you peace. You are atoning.)
> 
> _Amelan. Ame tel’gonathe._ (Keeper. I am not worthy.) 
> 
> _Sha, elgar’ma. Ane gonathe. Na eman viraju tath. Ane halani’ma?_ (hush, my spirit. You are worthy. You have work yet. Will you help me?)
> 
> _Vin, amelan. Na rajas’em, ar jumyan._ (yes, Keeper. Command me and I will follow)
> 
> _Ane gonathe. Na tel’silaiman. Ha’mi’in. Tel’silaiman lam. Ane mala ladarelan._ (you are worthy. Don’t forget. Rest. Forget the past. You are a healer now)
> 
> _Ar myan na rajathe, amelan._ (I follow your order, Keeper)
> 
> _Emaronan mar’lin i’aralan. Ar tel’nuvenan raja._ (I hold equal yourself and myself. I do not wish to command)
> 
> _Amelan. Ane tundra._ (Keeper. You are kind.)
> 
> * * *
> 
> Anders is a controversial topic, and everyone has their opinion, so... let's agree to disagree?


	64. *Heat Of A Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samarra gets... heated.  
>  ** _NSFW_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> This was _supposed_ to go up on Friday, but then ladydracarys happened, and... well. Here you go. I blame her.
> 
> * * *

**[POV Samarra]**

She was sitting at her desk, sorting through the meticulous notes she’d made, trying to plan her next step.

The Inquisitor and the Hawkes were to leave for Crestwood in three days time. She poured over her journal, debating what to tell them, and how much. The rift would have to be closed, Caer Bronach would have to be taken. Jana would have to be persuaded to not join the Grey Wardens.

And she needed to warn Leliana and Charter about Butcher’s possible death. Then there was the matter of the double agent...

And they needed to avoid the dragon.

She reached out and pulled a book from the shelves. Flipping open to the map of Crestwood, she tried to estimate, as best as she could, how long it would take Helena to finish the two main tasks in Crestwood.

She sighed, running her hands through her hair. _I hate this_ , she realized. _I hate plotting and planning and trying to stay five steps ahead of everyone when it feels like I’m lagging behind. I hate hiding and keeping secrets and lying and…_

She sighed, and rose from her chair. It was clear she wasn’t going to be productive in this self-pitying mood. Neither was she in the mood for company. Restless, she paced, wondering what she could do to occupy her time and her mind.

She itched for a fight.

In a split second, she made her decision, grabbing her staff from its place of honor. She stalked through the hallways, unaware that the crowds parted, wary of the fiery gleam in her eyes.

Unaware that a certain wolf followed her, lurking in the shadows.

She found Garrett in the tavern, his face flushed lightly, but looking none the worse for his drink. She slid her way slyly over to him, her lips close to his ear. “How good a mage are you?”

He responded instantly to the challenge in her tone. “Want to find out? His eyes smirked back at her.

“That’s why I came, Garrett.”

“Training grounds. Ten minutes. Be there.” Brusque words, and she left the tavern.

She made her way over to their meeting point, a grin on her face. The air crackled around her. Luna hung low in the sky, while Satina could barely be seen. Her blood hummed and sang to her, a lilting melody that seemed to resonate with nature itself.

She watched him as he made his way over to her. “So, what are the rules?” he asked, lazy and confident, a lion getting ready to hunt.

“No fatal spells. Anything else goes. Winner is whoever draws first blood.”

He chuckled. “Are you sure those are wise conditions to make, my lady?”

The way he said my lady was proud and confident, and set her hackles up.

“Afraid of being beaten, _messere_?”

“Victory will taste sweet, my lady. But I believe,” he struck the blade of his staff against the ground, “it shall be denied to you.”

She mirrored his stance. “So say you, messere. But we shall see.”

She dropped a barrier over herself, and cast an earthsplit on the ground where he stood. He jumped out of the way, and in return directed a bolt of lighting at her. She deflected it easily, and it struck one of Cassandra’s dummies, leaving it a blackened mess. He gave her no time to think, instead running headfirst at her, sweeping the ground with the blade of his staff. She had to duck out of the way, and countered by jabbing the tip of her staff against his shoulder. He knocked it out of the way with his, and froze her hand on her staff. Grinning, she slipped into stealth, enjoying his hiss of frustration as he searched for her. A static cage over both their heads foiled her plans, however, but she was able to get in a quick blow to his thigh. He barely winced, sending her reeling backwards with a mind blast spell. She retaliated with a veilstrike, leaving him open on the ground, which she tried to take advantage of. He was no fool, and he cast a gravitic ring around her. She felt slowed, weakened, and it was his turn to use it to his advantage, leaping to his feet and stunning her with a veiled riposte. 

She thought she tasted blood, but she couldn’t be sure.

Baring her teeth like a wild animal, she attacked furiously. A stasis lock kept him frozen in place, and she sent a stonefist at him, catching him in his solar plexus, causing him to grunt in pain.It seemed as though her attack stripped away any hesitation he might have had. They circled each other, wild-eyed, teeth bared. 

And then she saw his eyes turn red, and the blood in her veins hum in alarm. Frightened and unsure as to what he was doing, she cast a restorative veil over herself. But Garrett was a talented blood mage, and he had it ripped to shreds in moments. She could feel her blood begin to burn, and panicked, twisting the veil around him.

His eyes turned white again, and he looked confused. “Your blood,” he began, but she refused to listen, and cast a sleeping spell over him instead. He slumped to the ground without finishing his sentence.

She leaned heavily against her staff, panting. It had felt wrong, so wrong. And it had seemed as though Garrett had lost control at that moment. Something had happened, and she wasn’t sure what, but it was enough to make her wary.

She spun around when she heard the sound of a twig snapping. Storm grey eyes, gleaming in the darkness, met hers. “Solas,” she greeting shortly. What was he doing here? Had he followed her? Had he watched their sparring? Why?

“Are you following me, Solas?” a sharp question, to go with how sharp she was feeling at the moment. Heated blood. Heated skin. Heated mind. _Heat. Heat. Heat._

He seemed to notice and stepped closer. “What is the matter?” he asked, the question meant to sound concerned but instead coming out as a smirk.

 _Ice. Ice will help._ She sent trails of frost up her skin, shivering as they cooled her skin.

It didn’t help much. 

“What are you doing to me?” she whispered, aghast.

He was now in front of her, eyes boring into hers. “I did nothing, _da’assan_. This is entirely your doing. You partook of dragon blood, did you not?”

_Fuck. Shit. How did he know. How much did he know. Is that why he’s here? To kill me? Fuck, I don’t even think I can defend myself. God, why does my head feel so muggy? Focus, Samarra! Focus!_

“Dragonling,” she lied, the weight of it given credence by how weak she sounded. “It was an accident. I was trying to defend myself.”

He tut-tutted. “You toy with things beyond your knowledge or understanding, _da’assan_. You are not a warrior to slake your bloodthirst with the blood of dragons. You are a mage, tied tightly to the Fade. Dragon blood will heat your own, drive you to a kind of madness,” he said calmly, but his nostrils were flared and his jaw was clenched. “It was not helped by the spell your blood mage friend there tried to cast. No doubt the power in your blood was too much for him to ignore,” he said with a curl of his lip. “Come with me,” he ordered.

She hissed. Why, she wasn’t sure, but it seemed appropriate. 

His eyes flashed in challenge. “So be it.” He all but pounced on her, gripping her arms tightly behind her back, and he Fade-stepped them all the way to the rotunda, and into his room. He shut the door tightly behind them, sealing it with a ward so complex she knew it would take several minutes for her to undo.

She doubted he was going to give her those minutes. Or she would have, if her mind was working rationally. 

But there was just too much _heat_ for logical thought.

Too much _want_.

Too much _need_.

* * *

**[POV Solas]**

She was in his room, her eyes wild and untamed, and heat rolling off her in waves that drove him insane with need.

She was angry, but she was here.

She was needy, and she was here.

He wasn’t going to let her go, not now, not even if Corypheus and his dragon attacked this instant. He had waited far too long for her.

What had the little fool been thinking, playing around with the blood of dragons? And then sparring with a blood mage?

With a snarl, he slammed her against the wall, knocking the breath out of her lungs in a loud gasp. Sharp teeth nipped down the slope of her neck, before clamping down on her collarbone. He sucked hard, knowing it would leave a bruise, a mark of his handiwork.

He heard a stifled moan. Even now, in the midst of her heat-madness, she fought him, would not let out the sounds he knew were in her throat.

He had to admire that kind of will.

He trailed his tongue up over heated skin, the taste of her fuelling his madness. He captured her lips, those wonderful, lush, sinful lips that tasted of everything he wanted, and drank deeply, revelling in the soft mewls she made. A fist gripped her tunic hard; with a jerk of his fist the material ripped, and fell to the ground in pieces.

Her skin was flawless, and he rejoiced at the blank canvas. She was pristine, and soon he would paint it with scratches and bruises, marks of his joy and ownership.

And he would receive them in kind, he knew.

His hands wandered over the newly exposed flesh, groaning as he felt how soft and silky it was. Once again his mouth met hers in a brutal meeting meaning to control. She was all heat and madness, and he was feral and insane, and there was no hope that this would be a tender lovemaking. He tugged impatiently at her breastband, snarling at the sound it made as it shredded.

The sound was loud in the silence of the room. It seemed to bring her back to her senses, and she stared at him in shock. “Solas.” Her voice. _Her voice_. How was it it fuelled him? The warm, throaty tone, slight huskiness of it, the way his name rolled off her tongue.

He so very desperately wished to hear his _real_ name spilling forth from her lips.

“Solas, what are… what are we _doing_?” she asked, clarity creeping back into her eyes. Oh, but that would not do. That would not do at all. She braced her hands against his chest, preparing to shove him away, but he was far too gone to let her escape now.

The Dread Wolf had caught her scent, had hunted her, and now that his prey was in his arms, he _would_ devour her.

And so he did.

He meant to be gentle, really, he did. But it was next to impossible when the scent of her, the heat of her wrapped tightly around him. His lips met hers in unrestrained lust, swallowing the startled gasp she gave, feeding greedily on the small, shuddering cry that slipped from her as he swept his tongue past her lips. She tasted of fine, heady, decadent elven wines, long gone from this world, and it did not surprise him to know he could get drunk off of her.

He licked, and nibbled, and sucked on her lips, and soon they were swollen and bruised, making her look infinitely more desirable. When he pulled back to look at her, her eyes were just a little glassy, filled with wild lust.

He could have thrown his head back and howled in victory, for he knew then she was his. But if he was going to keep her this night, she was going to stay willingly. His pride would demand nothing else.

“If this displeases you,” he murmured into her ear even as his teeth tugged on her lobe. Ahhh. He’d suspected she had sensitive ears. Judging by the moan she gave as his tongue ran up the rounded curve of it, he was right. “If this displeases you, Samarra, you are free to leave.”

He tensed, and waited to see what she would do next.

Confusion was ripe in her eyes now, along with a kind of desperate need. There was a touch of fear, too, and he knew she wondered whether she had ever had a choice, a way out of this… link between them.

Then she sighed, softly, defeatedly, her shoulders slumping as she took a hesitant step towards him. As though she were walking off the edge of a cliff, unable to stop herself from falling into the abyss.

Poor little _fen’leal_. How was she to know she was doomed, had been from the moment his eyes had landed on her?

He was on her in a second, pressing her back against the wall, his fingers around her neck as he tilted her head backwards with his thumb. It was a brutal, demanding kiss, all teeth and tongue, and he expected her to submit against the force of his desire.

And yet again, she proved contrary.

She matched him, bite for bite, moan for moan, and he delighted in her responses even as he fought for domination. It thrilled him that she refused to cave, to surrender. His hands went to her breasts, high and firm and ripe and _full_ , so unlike an elven woman’s but he revelled in the difference. They fit into his palms perfectly, and he squeezed them lightly, drawing a soft cry from her, and he used the opportunity to slant his mouth against hers for a better fit, taking her deeper. His fingers traced teasing little circles around her nipples, feeling how each caress caused her to tense against him, smugness flowing through him at the knowledge that it was he who brought her pleasure.

Her magic was so tightly coiled within her, but he wanted it out, wanted it free and unbound and mingling with his.

When he dropped his fingers, she mewled, upset, but he gave her a knowing grin and slid them down her body, stroking the dip of her waist, the flare of her hip, down, down, down, into her breeches and past her smalls to her core.

She was so _wet_. He snarled as the scent of her arousal hit his nose.

He parted her folds, seeking the sensitive little pearl that he knew would make her keen. His mouth latched onto her breast even as his fingers found her nub, and the cry she let out soothed a dark part of him. He circled the little nub until her fingers were digging into his shoulders so hard he knew her nails would bruise even through the cloth. Her hips rocked against his hand, and he grinned. She would break tonight. She would be his.

Two fingers slipped inside her now obscenely wet passage. He lost his concentration as he felt the tight, wet heat of her. No, heat was too mild a word. She was fiery, a blazing inferno sat at the core of her, and he wanted, _needed_ to feel her walls around him.

“You feel…” he gasped into her ear. _Perfect_ , he wanted to say. _Flawless_. But he was impatient to see her shatter, and he began pumping his fingers, using his thumb to circle and flick at her clit. He wanted her screams, but it seemed as though she were only capable of repeating his name over and over, first as a whisper, then a while, and when her hips crashed against his fingers restlessly, she wailed his name as she chased her release.

Her face contorted in pleasure, eyes fluttering shut, swollen, bruised lips parted in a desperate wordless scream. **Magnificent.**

And he needed to see it again.

Giving her no time to recover, he spun them around and pushed her onto his bed, pulling off her breeches and smalls in a swift motion as he pulled away from her. No sooner had he divested her of the last of her clothing than she was on her feet, pressed against him, hot and naked. 

“You have too many clothes on,” she snarled. _Snarled_. As though she were a predator.

 _Ah, ma fen’leal_. With a dark chuckle, he allowed her to pull off his tunic, then the high-necked shirt he wore under it. Where he was rough, she was gentle, tending to him with careful precision. She unlaced his breeches, all the while looking him in the eye, and palmed his arousal through his smalls.

She was going to be the end of him.

Her touch was slow and delicate, so good and yet not enough. Flashing him a wicked grin, she sank to her knees, and he braced himself for what he knew came next.

A light touch of her magic, and his smalls were turned to ashes. He laughed, the brazen action delighting him. _Little vixen_ , he thought affectionately.

And then her tongue stroked the length of him, and he ceased to think.

She tested him at first, swirling her tongue around the tip of him, sliding it against his slit. He hissed and he gasped, and he saw power flash in her eyes. Slowly, she took him into her mouth, and it was so much better, _so much better_ than all the times he had imagined it. She began to bob her head, taking in as much of him as she could, getting used to the length and girth of him. Soon she’d set a rhythm that had him growling non-stop, the tip of his arousal hitting the back of her throat.

She released his erection with an audible pop, and grinned up at him, saliva trailing down her chin, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, and he wanted her like this forever, gazing up at him in that wicked way of hers. She lowered her head and pressed a gentle kiss to his sac, and he had had enough. Fisting his hand in the rich garnet that was her hair, he forced her to her feet, and moved with her to his bed. When she felt the back of her legs hit the bed, however, she turned them around, pushing him onto the bed, and crawling up his body.

“If I am to sin,” she murmured, “I will sin magnificently.”

And then she guided him into her, head thrown back in pleasure, whimpers and mewls spilling forth through kiss-swollen flushed lips. Inch by torturous inch her body swallowed him. He could feel her passage strain and stretch to accommodate his girth, and the pleasure was like **nothing** he’d ever experience in his long and admittedly debauched life. She was right. This was sin. She shuddered when he was fully hilted within her. He could feel her cunt rippling, and knew she was close. He wouldn’t let her come. Not yet. Not till she’d ridden him to his satisfaction.

“Move,” he commanded hoarsely, and she obeyed, lifting and impaling herself on his erection. She tried to go slow, to prolong the pleasure, but he knew by the desperation on her face and the increased tempo of her movement that she was approaching her peak. As he felt the telltale rippling of her muscles, he cast his magic over her. She sobbed in frustration as she reached the apex, but was unable to fall off of it. She rode him wildly, desperately, her breasts bouncing with every move, tempting him, and he reached up and cupped them in his palms, his fingers pinching and teasing the hardened nubs, causing her to make sexy little whimpers. Her body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and her hair fell over her shoulders, down her back in wild waves, tangled and tousled. She was a goddess, his goddess, and he whispered endearments to her that sounded like prayers, like pleas, and she answered each of them with a moan and a sob.

At last, when he felt himself approaching his pinnacle, he released the bindings on her. She came with a strangled cry, shuddering violently, and the spasms of her passage were too much to ignore, and he reared up as he spilled into her, his teeth clamping down on her shoulder.

She slid down against him, limp and spent, but he wasn’t done yet. “Again,” he growled, his cock twitching to life as he locked eyes with her dazed ones.

“I.. Solas, I can’t… I can’t come again,” she mumbled, but he paid her no heed. “Again,” he said, rolling them over, moving and flipping her, coaxing her onto her knees.

“Solas,” she breathed, hooking her feet around the back of his thighs, but she was given no time to finish what she had to say. He pushed his cock into her from behind, covering her body with his. She whimpered and shifted into a better position, bracing herself on her forearms and widening her stance. Oh, this was much better, and he growled his approval as he felt his cock rub against the bundle of nerves hidden deep inside her passage. She felt the same way, gasping and moaning, bucking her hips against him in a frantic search for pleasure.

He slid one arm around her waist, the other grabbing a fistful of hair. He held her that way, controlling the pace, giving a growl, and a hard jerk on her hair when she tried to move faster. 

“ _Da’assan_ ,” he warned, “here, in this moment, you are mine, and I _will_ have you as I please, as slow or quick as I please, and you _will_ submit and take my seed as many times as I wish. Is that clear?”

The sound of her panting filled the room, but she was silent. He knew she hated being ordered, but he would not budge. She would submit to the wolf. He leisurely rotated his hips, giving her a fraction of pleasure, a ghost of what she sought.

She whimpered, and tried to mimic his actions. He tightened his grip around her waist, holding her firmly in position. “Well?” he murmured into her hair, his hand sliding down to tease her nub.

“Yes,” she choked out. 

“Yes, what?” he asked, relentless. He needed to hear it from her lips. 

“Yes, I submit, damn you,” she ground out, and it was all he needed to hear. It had worked, too well, and she gave him full reign over her body. He guided the pace, relaxing his grip on her when she embraced his rhythm, tightening his hold when she tried to speed up. He took her slowly, leisurely, until finally, feeling merciful, he let go of her waist and brushed his fingers over her sex.

She cried out, helpless, as a quieter, gentler climax rolled over her. She couldn’t seem to stop shaking, riding out the little crests against his hand, grinding against his fingers. But he wasn’t done yet. A spark of electricity erupted from his hand, and she cursed him, in Common and Elven. He quickened his pace, and she soon tumbled into a second release, sobbing incoherently. And _still_ he wasn’t done. He would see her ruined. He held her steady by the hips, his fingers digging into the skin, and he snapped his hips against hers, rutting her with deep, claiming strokes, each thrust hitting the sensitive bundle of nerves in her. He could feel her magic coiling up again. He thrust into the hilt a few more times. Once. Twice. The third ended him, and her, and their magics exploded in a shower of sparks over their bodies. He howled her name as he rode his release, the pleasure a flood unlike anything he’d felt.

She collapsed weakly against the bed, and he gently gathered her up in his arms, bathing her heated skin in the lightest of frosts. She gazed up at him, heavy-lidded, and smiled, a woman thoroughly sated.

And then she leaned up and brushed her lips against his, a soft, sweet, tender pass. His heart clenched. “I don’t regret this,” she said quietly, and settled back against him, her face pressed to his chest, closing her eyes and drifting into slumber, exhausted.

He stared at her for the longest time as she slept peacefully in his arms, his heart a violent maelstrom of emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... yeah. Sorry? I'm not the best at this whole smut thing...


	65. Reality, Revelations and Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't just a game, this new world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> You can catch me on my [tumblr ](http://roguelioness.tumblr.com/)! I'm always up for a good chat, lore-mongering, or just flat-out ridiculousness.

Her body was aching in strange ways, which confused her. There was a warmth surrounding her, a breath on her neck. When she opened her eyes, she was disoriented. _This isn’t my room._ Then it all came crashing down on her. The spar with Garrett. Solas interrupting.

_**The sex.** _

She shifted slightly, and the arm around her middle tightened. A soft growl could be heard from behind her. Really, his grip should be far too tight to be comfortable, but… she found herself enjoying it. 

_Told you you’d end up banging the egg. Hey, you made an omlette! No, scrambled eggs!_

_Ugh. Let it go._

It had been… spectacular. Was sex like that even supposed to exist? Was it even legal? In the light of day, it seemed rather impossible that last night had happened. Perhaps Solas had been right. Perhaps this… strange thing between them would have ended up this way. Right now, she certainly thought so. The signs were certainly there, that she'd end up... in some manner... with this intelligent, kind, considerate, polite... _infuriating... **sexy**... annoying..._ elf.

She sighed. It was hopeless. The maddening apostate had wormed his way into her heart. _Damn it!_

_It doesn’t change anything, sweet thing._

No, of course not. He was still dedicated to restoring his world at the cost of this one, and she was still devoted to stopping him. She exhaled softly, and gently prised his hand off of her, holding her breath to see if he would awaken. To her relief, he did not. She wasn’t sure if she could handle dealing with him just yet. She was still processing everything, and… she felt very, very vulnerable at the moment.

A quick scan around the room showed that most of her clothing was little more than scraps at this point. She shook her head, slightly annoyed. Sliding out of bed, she pulled on her breeches, grabbed his undershirt and tugged it on. Her lower half was sticky with his spend, the scent of him lingering in the air, mingling with the scent of dried herbs, parchment and leather that coated his room. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes as her mind burst with quick little flashes of the night before. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she gathered the rest of her torn clothing and made her way over to the door. It was covered with a complex ward, and she spent several moments untangling the magic, working quietly so as to not awaken him. The presence of the ward worried her. Why had he placed it there? If she hadn’t wanted to sleep with him last night… would he really have let her go?

_Does it matter? Would you really have walked away last night?_

No… no, she wouldn’t have. She had needed him too much.

Finally, she undid the ward, and opened the door quietly, peeping out to check if the coast was clear. There was no one around, and the rotunda was as silent as it usually was. She snuck out of Solas’ room, and made her way quickly to hers. Once inside, she pulled off her clothing, burned whatever could not be salvaged, and headed straight for the tub.

She caught sight of her naked body in the mirror, and gasped. Her body was peppered with bruises. She could make out the imprint of his fingers on her hips, her thighs, her breasts. Teeth marks on her shoulders, her neck, her stomach. 

She looked like she’d been ravaged.

And what was _even stranger_ was that she found herself _enjoying_ the sight of them. She traced each bruise, remembering how it had gotten there, and her cheeks turned red. With a soft sigh, she healed all of them. No doubt he left them deliberately on her as some sort of claim, but she couldn’t - wouldn’t - have them. She bathed herself, wincing as the hot water stung her aching core. She wasn’t sure if she could walk properly. He really _had_ taken her well...

_Don’t get sentimental._

She soothed away the ache. No sentimentality. Last night was a welcome distraction, a chance to get things out of their systems. That was all. Nothing more. She didn’t regret it, but neither could she allow a repeat of what happened between them.

_Even if it was the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?_

_Yes._

_Even if he’s the only one who can give you that kind of pleasure?_

_Yes!_

_Are you sure?_

_YES!_

_…. You’ll sleep with him again, my sweet naive chocolate chip._

_Oh, shut up._

When she heard the knock on her door, she was dressed, and was getting ready to head over to the infirmary. She needed to get back to work, to do something to keep her mind from overanalyzing the events of the night before. To keep herself from thinking of dark, heated eyes, sweat-slicked skin, long, slender, strong fingers… 

_For fuck’s sake, woman, get a grip on yourself_

Opening the door cautiously, she sighed inwardly in relief as she spied Garrett and not _him._

“Garrett?” she looked at him warily.

“Samarra.” He seemed ashamed.

“What’s… uhhh… why are you here?”

“I came to apologize for last night,” he said quietly. “We were just sparring. I shouldn’t have used that spell on you. I don’t know what came over me, I’m usually really in control, but your blood was just so potent I kind of lost my mind…”

“It’s okay,” she said, amending her answer when she saw the unamused look he gave her. “Okay, so it’s not okay, but… no harm done. I’m sorry I put you to sleep, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You could have done worse,” he said seriously. “The sleeping spell was a kindness.”

“So,” she said with a grin. “Who won that round?”

He smirked. “First blood, right? I believe it was me. You were bleeding from somewhere, and it called out to me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fair enough. I’ll concede.”

He leaned against the doorpost. “So, as victor, what do I get?”

“Absolutely nothing,” she laughed.

“Oh, come on! Not even a hug?”

“Nope!”

“Well, what if I wanted to give you one, as an apology?”

She thought it over. “That, I can accept,” she said, smiling.

It was a friendly hug. That’s all it was. But from the look on Solas’ face she’d have thought she’d been caught fucking Garrett in front of a crowd. It was… disconcerting.

And more than a little frightening.

* * *

“What exactly do you mean, Crestwood is going to take some time to fix?” Helena asked, puzzled.

She sighed. “I’ll get to it in a minute.” She turned to Leliana, aware of the Hawke twins’ gaze on her. “Leliana, you have a double agent in your ranks. He goes by Painter, real name Abernale Harish. He’s working for the Venatori. Your man Butcher’s got a tail, but he’ll shake them off in Lydes. If he meets up with Charter, he’s going to be ambushed. He’s got a list of names you’ll be interested in.”

“Noted,” Leliana said grimly, a dangerous look in her eye.

“Andraste’s flaming knickers,” Marian muttered.

“Getting back to Crestwood - Leliana, have you heard anything from Lace?”

“We have reports of a very strange rift, and more undead.” 

She nodded. “That’s right. There’s a rift in the middle of a lake, where the old village of Crestwood used to be. It’s causing the undead. You’ll have to close it, Helena - the villagers are suffering. There’s also a small keep that would be worthwhile as a base for the Inquisition out on the field - you’ll need soldiers to take it, it’s currently occupied by bandits.”

“Anything else?”

“This is only a suggestion, but perhaps you should meet the Warden contacts first, and send them to Skyhold. They can update Commander Cullen about all they know. I could also use some of their input. There’s a battle in the near future,” she said grimly, “and if we’re not carefully prepared, it will get very bloody.”

The air was tense. Helena gnawed at her lip uncertainly. “I think you should accompany us, Samarra,” she said. “We’ll meet with the Warden contacts. Then you, the Hawkes, and the Wardens can return to Skyhold. I’ll deal with the rest of Crestwood’s problems and make my way back to you later.”

“That will work,” she said slowly, eyes scanning the map. 

“The Wardens are in trouble, aren’t they?” Garrett asked grimly.

She raised her eyes to look at him. “More than they think,” she said quietly. A tingle in her arm, and she knew she was about to get a vision. An image of Helena and her party - the faces were fuzzy - the Hawkes and the Wardens in the Fade, trying to battle their way past the Aspect of the Nightmare, and the Nightmare demon. Bloody and exhausted, they defeated the Aspect, but the Nightmare was far, far too strong for them. A moment of hesitation, a moment of despair, a moment of shared understanding, and the Hawkes, the Wardens and the Inquisitor’s companions charged the demon, fighting to clear a passage for Helena to get to the rift.

It was only the Inquisitor who stepped out of the rift. _Alone._

She collapsed to the ground, clutching at her chest, fighting to breathe. The voices around her were muffled, and she paid no attention to the concerned questions. 

_Dear God. Dear God. They die. They all die. Oh sweet baby Jesus they all die in the Fade, I can’t let that happen, I can’t let them die, I can’t fail them, oh my god, how am I supposed to look these people in they eye and lie to them. I can’t do it, I can’t, I can’t…_ “I can’t,” she gasped out, choking on her sobs, and fled the room. Helena called after her, but she couldn’t stay behind, couldn’t remain in that room for a moment more. Couldn’t remain in Skyhold a moment longer. Not with this damning knowledge in her mind, bubbling away like acid. She ran to the stables, grabbed Isaline, not even bothering to put a saddle on her mount, and rode out, ignoring the shouts of alarm and worry, ignoring everything, everyone, ignoring… _all that._

She couldn’t. She wasn’t made for this. She wasn’t battle-hardened and disillusioned, she couldn’t keep her emotions distinct from the situation they were in. Seeing Haven fall had been bad enough, but she’d weathered through it, pushed on with the knowledge that she could make a change. And now it seemed as though her interference had a price, and it was the lives of those she cared for and loved. She rode till the gates were no longer in sight, and tumbled off into the snow, screaming into the air.

“Why?” she screamed. “Why me? Why them? Why?” She sobbed into the clean white snow, unheeding of the fact that her tears were freezing into tiny little shards of ice on her face. “What did they do to deserve this?” she asked no one in particular. “They’ve already been through so much. They don’t deserve to die like that. They deserve to be happy. Please, someone, anyone, make it stop. Make it all stop. I’ll do anything, I’ll give anything, even my life, I swear, but please, they need to be kept safe.”

Only silence answered her.

“Oh god,” she sobbed. “How can I face them? How am I supposed to live with myself? They will know, they will all know I knew, and they will hate me. Please, no, don’t do this, I can’t take it. I don’t want these marks, I don’t want this power, just take it back, take it all back, I don’t want any of it!”

This wasn’t a game. It hadn’t been, from the moment she’d found herself on ash-covered snow, soot lingering in the air. Now she fought as hard as any of them, but her battles were in her mind, and in her heart. She’d never admitted it, not even to herself, but she’d kept all of them at bay, at arm’s length, to protect her heart, keeping them safe, but not allowing herself to feel.

Perhaps she was more like Solas than she cared to think.

But somewhere, somehow along the way, she’d been taken in by them. Josephine’s loyalty. Cullen’s perseverence. Leliana’s struggle to find herself. Vivienne’s ambition. Dorian’s charm. They had all become dear to her, slipping beneath her defenses, and they _cared_ about her.

Exhausted, she slumped against the bark of a tree. Isaline stood nearby, neighing softly, worried about her owner. The Forder nuzzled at her, it's warm breath dampening her face. Samarra let out a snort of bitter laughter that turned into a half-sob. _Even the damn horse cares about me._

She felt _stupid_. Like she was supposed to know better, to be better, to do better, and instead she was floundering around like a fish dying out of water, certain that something was wrong but unsure as to what it was.

She couldn’t fix this by herself. Even if she had the power, she lacked the knowledge. There was only one person who could truly master the Fade, and it would be his help she would have to seek.

She sighed, drawing her knees up to her chest. “I want to go home,” she whispered softly, quietly, into the wind. “I want to go back to my same old boring routine, and moan about the mundaneness of it all. I want to hear my friends tease me about playing Dragon Age. I just…” she gazed off, unseeing, into the distance. “I want to go home!" she screamed.

“And where would your home be?” a voice inquired. 

She flinched. _Solas_. How did he find her?

She found herself not caring. She just wanted to be alone. “Please, go away,” she said tiredly. “I don’t have the energy to deal with you.”

He ignored her, settling himself down next to her. She frowned. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“I did. I chose to ignore your words.”

She had nothing to say to that, and remained silent, keeping her face turned carefully away from him.

“I gather there was a disturbance of sorts in the war room?” he asked.

“A vision,” she admitted.

He made a small murmur of sympathy. “Knowledge of the future is not an easy burden to bear. Helena was able to share hers. You refuse to.”

“For good reason, Solas,” she countered. “Haven’t we been over this before?”

“You must consider this. Of what use are your visions to the Inquisition if you cannot cope with what you see? If every time you are shown a glimpse of the future you break down, how can you be sure you are doing the right thing when you, as you so eloquently put it, ‘plot and plan’?”

That stung. “Seeing death is never easy,” she said, hurt.

“It is not,” he agreed. “But you have been given a chance to change it. And yet you persist in devoting your attention to what you have been shown, not what you can do about it.”

“I’m sorry I’m not as stoic and emotionless as you, Solas,” she spat.

“That was most certainly not your opinion last night,” he smirked. It was clearly meant as a diversion… and it worked.

She flushed. “Last night was… a one time thing.”

“Oh?” he asked silkily. 

“We got it out of our systems, and now we can move on,” she insisted.

“Is that so,” he murmured, leaning into her.

“Solas.” 

“Hmmm?”

“How far would you go, to protect those you love?”

She could feel him stiffen next to her. “Why do you ask?” he asked lazily.

“Call me curious.”

“I do not believe I have an answer to that question.”

“Why not?” she shifted to better look at him.

“I do not have anyone I love,” he answered carelessly.

“But what about the Inquisitor? The people in the Inquisition? Your friends?” she sounded aghast, and she was.

He shrugged. “I care about them, yes. But I believe the question referred to people I _love_.”

She knew what he was saying, even if he didn’t think she understood. How had that Trespasser dialogue gone?

_“You’d murder countless people?”_

_“Wouldn’t you, to save your own?”_

She burst out into a sharp, bitter, mirthless laugh. _[“Dirth’ala’em,]()_ ” she sighed, running her hands through her hair. _[“Dirth’ala’em.”]()_ Of course he would say that. He didn’t even consider the people around him real.

_“You must understand. I awoke in a world where the Veil had blocked most people’s conscious connection to the Fade. It was like walking through a world of tranquil.”_

Her laughter turned slightly hysterical.

_You slept with the Dread Wolf. Who’s going to kill you. Oh, yes, Wisdom would have you believe otherwise, but what do the spirits know? He's the Dread Wolf! The same man... _god_ who killed _his friend_ for not getting the passphrase to the eluvians. You think you're safe? When you can see the future? Because some spirit - who, by the way, is _his_ friend - waxed lyrical about it? Does he even consider you a person? He doesn't, does he? Everyone in this world is a mistake, in his eyes. And YOU'RE part of this world now. He's suspicious of you, isn't he? He's going to see you as a threat in the future. What did Wisdom say? That HE KILLED someone LIKE YOU. And you KNEW it. You knew everything, knew what he thought of you, of them all, and you still ended up in bed with him. Foolish. You are beyond foolish. Did you really think he wants you? He doesn’t want you. He wants what you have, what you know, wants you for the markings on your arm, the power you carry. But you idiot, you absolute fucking idiot, you fell for it anyway. You have all the knowledge and yet you do **nothing** with it._

She turned to face him. His face was sharp and intense, his gaze almost dissecting in its nature. _[“Ir abelas.]()_ It has been… trying,” she offered weakly.

“Perhaps I can help,” he suggested.

“Perhaps you can,” she replied somberly. He was taken aback, clearly not expecting that.

She swallowed hard. Was she really going to do this? Ask the Dread Wolf for help? Was she willing to approach the Trickster?

_Do you have any other choice?_

No. No, she did not.

It didn’t reassure her.

“Hypothetically speaking. If… if the Inquisitor and her party were stranded… somewhere… somewhere, uhhh, dangerous. And… and… that… without help… most of them would perish. But… ahhh, but if there… was someone who… who could help… should… should I take the risk of… of asking for help? Of… of changing the… the outcome?”

His eyes, so shrewd and intelligent, caught on immediately. “If it means saving lives,” he said calmly, “surely changing the course of events would be beneficial. That is what you have always tried to do, yes?”

She wanted to say _yes, but those were the lives of NPCs, not main characters, and it’s not even a single man, but an entire group of people…_ people who she cared about.

“You’re right,” she sighed. “All that matters is saving lives.” She shut her eyes and rested her head back against the tree trunk. “Very well then, Solas. I cannot tell you what it is yet, but what I can tell you is that you might be the only person who can help. And so I ask - what is your price?”

“My price?” he echoed, his eyes narrowed.

“Yes,” she said calmly, turning to look at him, but her heart hammered against her ribs. “We both know there will be a price to pay, Solas. It would be foolish on my part to pretend it is not so.”

He smiled at that, a sharp, bladed smile. “I would not mistake you for _foolish_ , Samarra,” he drawled. “It is as you say. A favor for a favor.”

“A favor for a favor,” she repeated.

His long, slender fingers gripped her chin. “Now that we have agreed on the terms, what would you ask of me?”

She swallowed, unable to tear her gaze from his. “It is not time, yet. But it will be, soon.”

“Very well.” he released his grip on her, and she had the sudden urge to scramble to her feet. So she did. 

“We should return,” she remarked hastily. 

“Yes,” he said, casually rising. They walked back in silence, leading Isaline, who was content to follow them. 

“You mentioned wanting to go home,” he asked slowly.

“Don’t we all feel that way?” she hedged. “Especially those of us who have no home left?”

“What will you do after all this is over?”

She chuckled bleakly. “Assuming I’m alive at the end of it, and that Corypheus is defeated? It’s too early to be making those kinds of plans, isn’t it?”

“A fair point. Although I daresay with your assistance the Inquisition will be most successful in their endeavor.”

“Careful, Solas. That kind of confidence is tempting fate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
>  _Dirth'ala em_ \- May I learn. [indicates that one is dire need of a lesson, one that will most likely impact one's world view. Considered the worst curse of the elves, because sometimes such lessons are the last things in the world one would want to learn. They can sometimes shatter your very being and destroy who you are as a person]
> 
>  _Ir abelas_ \- I'm sorry
> 
> * * *
> 
> Huh. I wonder how wise it is to make deals with the wolf.
> 
> 200K words! And we're not even at Crestwood yet whaaaaaat.


	66. Hope Is A Waking Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laying down plans and navigating dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

“I apologize for my outburst,” she said with a sigh. “I hope I didn’t worry you too much.”

“Worry? Ummm, most definitely _yes_ ,” Helena said, a frown on her face. “Are you okay? What happened? If it’s too much for you to deal with then we won’t force you to join the meetings, Samarra.”

She shook her head. “It’s my burden to bear,” she insisted, “I can deal with it.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Cullen advised. “It will not be good for you.”

She gave him a wry smile, eyebrow cocked, and he flushed, understanding what she was saying without speaking. _You do it all the time, Commander, pushing through the pain of the lyrium withdrawal, but you want me to take it easy? Nope, not gonna happen._

“I think… I believe I can find a solution,” she murmured. “But that is not the matter at hand. Helena, I’m afraid there’s a slight change of plan. I will not be accompanying you to Crestwood. Meet up with the Wardens. Marian, Garrett, after touching base with Alistair, Stroud and Anders, make sure you all return to Skyhold.”

“What about you?” Helena asked.

“I’m going to go to Kirkwall,” she said firmly. “We need to visit the Black Emporium. I’ll bring back schematics and work with Dagna on them."

“Whatever this is, it’s serious, isn’t it?” Marian asked.

“Absolutely,” she replied. “But if I have my way… it won’t be a complete shitstorm.”

“You’re making this sound worse than Haven,” Helena said worriedly.

“It is… different,” she said with a sigh. “Awful in its own way. I cannot tell you more. Even if I did, you would not believe me.”

“That’s not reassuring, Samarra!” Helena exclaimed.

“I know, I know,” she replied apologetically. “I’m sorry."

“So, fine. I’m supposed to sort out Crestwood, and you’re going to… do whatever it is you’re doing. Is that the gist of it? Anything else I need to know?”

“Take rain gear,” Samarra advised. “You’ll need it. There’s also a dragon near this region,” she added, circling the Black Fens area. “Try not to go there, will you?”

“Stay away from the big bad beastie,” Helena said wryly. “Will do.”

“Oh. One last thing. Umm, well actually two. One, get someone to keep an eye on the Mayor of Crestwood. Two, if you encounter an elf by the name Jana, ask her to join the Inquisition. I’m sure Leliana can always use a new agent.”

_Wait, doesn’t one of the ways to recruit Jana involve getting Solas to talk to her? I wonder if… I wonder if she’ll become his agent in the Inquisition later on. Hmmmm. That’s a possibility. I’ll have to keep an eye out for her._

“That’s a lot of instruction. Anything else?” Helena sighed.

“Leliana. Have your people reached the Western approach yet?”

“No. Harding will lead a group there soon.” Leliana looked at her curiously.

“Make sure you get them out there. I’ve seen Venatori and mercenaries around there; give them the heads up, will you?”

“I will inform Lace,”the spymaster promised.

“Who should I take with me?” the Inquisitor asked.

“Whoever you’d like. I need Varric to guide me through Kirkwall, but the others are yours,” she said with a smile.

Marian cleared her throat. “I can contact a few friends in Kirkwall. Merrill and Aveline are still around. You can stay at our place. Our housekeeper, Orana, will still be there, so the house won’t be in shambles.”

“I might take you up on that offer. Thank you.”

* * *

“Dags!” she called out as she entered the foundry.

She was met by the cheery chestnut-haired dwarf. Dagna wasn’t the bright, bubbly, enthusiastic dwarf that the game portrayed. She was cheerful, yes, but one had to work to gain Dagna’s good graces. She had lovely molten milk chocolate eyes, a nose that was a little too wide, and a mouth that seemed to be always upturned into a smile.

What the game hadn’t shown was how intelligence shone from the dwarf’s eyes. It hadn’t mentioned her inquisitive mind, her ability to analyze a situation in a matter of minutes. If Bianca Davri considered herself twice the smith Paragon Branka was, Dagna Janar was easily ten times as innovative as the smith caste dwarf.

Their first meeting hadn’t gone down very well. It had been soon after Samarra’s return from the Hinterlands, and she’d been told the arcanist was interested in some of her samples. What she hadn’t expected was the arcanist to try and seize all their samples. A hot argument had broken out between the two, with Dagna claiming that Samarra lacked the knowledge necessary to fully analyze them, and Samarra arguing that she had had enough knowledge to collect the samples in the first place, so studying them would be no problem.

Then a sample of dragon feces fell off the table onto the floor, and the room was filled with the stench of shit that had driven Harritt right out of the foundry.

But the two women remained behind, having identified the lingering scent of sulphur. And that had been the first step in a series of interactions that had lead to both of them identifying that the Ferelden Frostback ingested large amounts of sulphur in order to fuel its flame breath.

And it had brought them closer, so much so Samarra spent hours discussing various tools with Dagna, with the arcanist promising to do her best to replicate them. As a result of which Samarra’s infirmary was stocked with syringes of all sizes, percussion hammers, tuning forks, and even a modified penlight - which had been a stroke of genius, involving a small crystal and a fire rune that was activated by touch. The dwarf was currently working on replicating a stethoscope. The issues they faced were that there was no such thing as rubber in Thedas, which meant Dagna couldn’t replicate the tubing part, and they hadn’t found a membrane suitable enough to make the resonator with.

“Sammy!” the dwarf called out in reply, a smile on her face. “I’m glad you’re here. I think I may have found a breakthrough in that chest-listening device of yours.” She picked up a dull-looking beige material. “This came in as a bonus from one of the merchants. The ambassador had it sent to me. Look at it,” she exclaimed happily, pulling it one way, then another. To Samarra’s amazement, the material was stretching every so slightly… like rubber. 

“I see what you mean,” she replied, just as excited. “What’s it called?”

“Erubar,” Dagna answered. “Apparently, it’s from Tevinter. I wish I knew what they used it for there. But anyway, I think this can be used to form the tubes. And if I borrow Harritt’s hammer, I reckon I can get this pounded down thin enough to form the membrane part, too. If I cover it with the Serault infused glass, I think I can cause it to magnify sounds.”

“That sounds exciting! We could use grey iron for the upper part. And a soft leather around the earpieces.”

“Ooooh, good idea. But maybe steel would be better than grey iron?”

“Steel’s a lot harder,” Samarra shook her head. “Won’t be as flexible.”

“But grey iron will wear out easily. And it’ll rust.”

“Hmmm. That’s true.” she bit her lip, thinking.

“Or I could try to use the blue vitriol the Inquisitor brought back from the Fallow Mire. It’s been too soft to forge any armor or weapons with, but it doesn’t wear out. If I mix it with the tiniest bit of steel, it should be just right.”

“That sounds like a plan, Dags! I can’t wait to see what you come up with!”

“I’ll get started right away,” Dagna said, beaming. “Was there something you came here for?”

“Oh, right, yes. I’ll be leaving for Kirkwall in a few days - there’s a store there, a very exclusive store called the Black Emporium that has wonderful schematics. I’ll be bringing back some of them. We’re going to have to outfit everyone in the Inquisitor’s Inner Circle with new weapons and armor - and the Inquisitor herself, of course.”

Dagna frowned. “How many in total?”

“Weapons-wise? We’re looking at five staves, five sets of swords and shields, a pair of dual daggers, and a new bow. Varric’s not going to use anything other than his crossbow, so we’re going to have to find a way to upgrade that with runes.”

“What about you?” the dwarf asked.

“That’s where I need your genius mind, Dag-bear. Can you craft me a bow that will also serve as a staff? There are no schematics for it anywhere, I think.”

Dagna’s eyes began to gleam. “Oh, that is going to be a wonderful project.”

“One more thing,” she added, grinning. Pulling over a sheet of paper towards her, she picked up a quill and began to roughly sketch out a design.

“What is this?” Dagna asked her, a confused look on her face.

“This, Dags, is a hidden blade. See this cuff? It attaches the dagger to the forearm. The mechanism should be retractable, and you’ll definitely need a spring. But if you can make it…”

“We can kit everyone out with one of these as an additional defensive weapon,” Dagna immediately caught on. “This’ll be easy enough. I’ll use silverite for the blade. Biggest challenge will be the small bits, though. I’ll have to drag in Hagen. He’s Harritt’s apprentice, but he’s really good at the smaller stuff.”

“This isn’t a priority, so don’t worry about it for now. We’ll likely have to work on the design a bit more, anyway. Right now, we need to focus on the other weapons. We’ll need lots of runes,” Samarra warned.

Dagna brushed her off. “I’ll call you in to enchant the runestones. We can always get the Grand Enchanter to help, too.”

“Well, crap. We’ll need a staff for Fiona, too.”

Dagna gave her an unamused look. “How long do we have for this project?”

“Ummm… a month? Ish?” she supplied feebly.

The dwarf mulled over the information. “It’ll be a close call, but I think we can make it work. If you and Fiona handle the runes, I’ll begin work on the rest. The hidden blade will have to wait for now, though.”

“That’s fine,” Samarra waved it off. 

“Well then. You best work on getting those schematics.”

* * *

She was blissfully happy.

Everything was perfect - it was a gloriously sunny day, the breeze was just right, the lake was surrounded by lush green grass and wildflowers of all colors.

James was looking down at her, so handsome in his tailored tux, pride and happiness shining from his eyes.

She smiled as he lifted her hand and slipped the delicate gold band onto her ring finger. It glinted in the sunlight, and he covered her hand with both of his, whispering to her how happy he was to have found her, how much he loved her, how he was looking forward to spending their lives together…

The priest spoke up. “And do you, Samarra Natalya Bayart, take James Killian Parker, to be your lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?”

She smiled up at him, ecstatic. “I do,” she breathed. She took the ring the priest offered and slid it slowly into his ring finger.

The ring turned black, with six bloodstones set around the band. Startled, she looked up at James, wondering what was going on. But the person who stood in front of her wasn’t James.

It was Solas.

Solas, but not Solas. 

This was the man who wore Fen'harel as a badge of pride. He was dressed in Sentinel armor, a wolf pelt wrapped around him. Dark brown hair fell down the center of his scalp and just barely brushed his shoulders; the sides were trimmed very short. A diadem, the same design as the ring she’d just seen, sat around his forehead.

His hands were stained with blood.

She let out a cry and stepped away from him, holding out a hand as thought to ward him off. He followed her, eyes darkened with possession and greed. “Mine,” he growled, and she shivered at how predatory it sounded.

“No!” she flung back at him. “No! I didn’t marry you, I married James…”

“ **Mine** ,” he insisted with a snarl. 

She tugged at the ring on her finger, which, to her increasing alarm, resembled his. “No, I don’t want this,” she panicked, her fears further increasing when it refused to budge. He grabbed her hands, pinning them behind her back.

“Mine, Samarra, you are mine now, and you will be mine for eternity.” It sounded more like a promise than a threat, and she trembled at the sound of it.

“I can’t be,” she argued, fear lacing her tone. “I’m not an elf. I’m human. And you hate humans!”

He laughed, low and dark. “Unique,” he corrected her, fingers wrapping around her neck. “Peerless.” She struggled in his hold, but he only tightened his grip on her throat till she began gasping for breath, spots dancing around the edges of her vision; she was terrified, but not because she feared he would kill her; she feared he would claim her very soul.

“Why are you doing this?” she pleaded.

“Why do you fight me?” he countered, leaning in to nip her lower lip. She shivered as a quick stab of pleasure shot through her. He laughed again, wickedly. “Mine,” he murmured against her lips again, before claiming them. Behind her, she could hear the priest announce them as man and wife, and she struggled harder. 

Finally she broke free, and sped away from him, running as fast as her feet would let her. A loud, beastly, angry roar resounded in the air, but she dared not look behind her. The ground shook as something - something large and angry and determined chased after her. Sobbing, she ran till the edges of the pretty lakeside scene gave way to the green haze of the Fade. She stopped short as she noticed the change in environment, her heart beating wildly, but she began to realize she was dreaming.

But if she was dreaming, why was the earth still shaking?

A swirl of black mist, and a massive, gigantic wolf stepped out, black as the deepest, darkest shadow, six red eyes gleaming maliciously. It began stalking her, heading in her direction. Fear leapt into her throat, and she began running again. But she was no match for the thirty foot tall beast, and soon it towered over her, trapping her between its paws.

“Please,” she pleaded, cowering, not even sure what she was asking for. The wolf dipped his head and sniffed at her, inhaling in a sharp intake of breath. _Mine_ , a disjointed, animalistic voice surrounded her.

“No,” she whispered, even though she stood frozen in fear.

It angered the wolf. It bent its massive head once more, jaws open wide. She tried to run, tried to escape, but she was frozen in place, trapped. She screamed as the wolf’s jaws surrounded her form, as its razor sharp teeth began to close in on her, and she screamed and screamed and screamed… 

She woke up screaming, a worried Cole at the foot of her bed.

“He likes you,” the spirit said, his hands twisting nervously. “He won’t hurt you. He wants to keep you safe. He isn’t that kind of wolf.”

“I… I…” she swallowed, waiting for her heart to return to normal. 

“He wanted to keep you safe. He’s angry you won’t stay with him but he won’t hurt you.”

“For now, maybe,” she whispered.

It only caused Cole to look more distressed. “But you like him,” he burst out. “Heart hammering, hoping, hungry for love. Hands wandering, bruising, claiming. Pleasure so bright it burns, the pain made sweeter by whispered words.”

She stared at him, dismayed. “I can’t,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I can’t. He… he will take everything if I let him. I can’t.”

Cole remained quiet at that, probably recognizing the truth of her statement. She wiped her face with a shaky hand. “I’m fine, Cole-bun. You don’t have to stay.”

He cocked his head to the side, giving her one of his airy glances. Then, he nodded, and vanished. She sighed, and wrapped her arms around herself. The dream had felt so real. Even now, lingering remnants of the panicked terror remained in her throat…

There was a knock on the door. With a reluctant sigh, she rolled out of bed, padding across the floor in bare feet to open the door.

Solas stood there, a puzzled look on his face. “I was just visited by a very distraught Cole, who said you were having bad dreams and needed me?”

She flushed. _That little meddler!_ “I did have a bad dream,” she explained shortly, “but I’m fine now. Cole shouldn’t have disturbed you, I’m sorry. I’ll talk to him about it. Thanks for checking up on me, though.”

He didn’t believe her. “I would like to hear about it,” he said gently.

“Really, it’s nothing.”

“Please,” he said with a smile. “For my peace of mind. Cole was _very_ worried.”

She sighed, and stood aside to let him in. He took the chair at the desk, and waited for her to curl up in her bed, legs crossed. She huffed. “I was… I was being chased by a wolf,” she began, completely omitting the first part. She had no intention of telling him that bit. 

He tensed just the slightest bit when she mentioned wolf. She noted it. _Dammit, Cole!_

“That can be a rather distressing experience,” he said calmly.

“Sure. Bad enough if it was a regular wolf, you know? But this was a fucking forty foot tall wolf. Black as midnight. Six glowing red eyes. That was… beyond distressing.”

His face was perfectly neutral. “And what did this wolf try to do?”

“Ummm, hunt me? And I’m pretty sure it was going to _eat_ me, if I hadn’t woken up.”

“Fascinating,” he said, in a tone that implied it was anything but. “It seems as though your imagination has conjured up the form of the elven god Fen’harel.”

“I know about Fen’Harel,” she muttered. “The Trickster God, right? He locked away the other gods.”

“They call him the Great Betrayer,” he said, eyes as hard as flint. 

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t make sense. Why would I dream of him?”

“Perhaps he’s found your scent, _da’assan_. The Dalish say when the Dread Wolf catches one’s scent, he will never rest until he has hunted and caught them.”

“That’s certainly reassuring.”

“Why are you concerned? You do not believe in the elven gods.”

“Seriously, I cannot imagine why Cole sent you here,” she remarked dryly. “I told you I was fine.”

“He worries about you,” Solas stated. “He does not fully understand the nature of dreams. Which was why he came to me, no doubt.”

“Yes, well,” she sighed. “Looks like I’m up. I hope Cole didn’t disturb your sleep.”

“On the contrary; I was already awake. I must return to my painting, I have but a few hours before the plaster dries.”

“Oh, don’t let me keep you,” she replied. “I might actually join you in a bit, if you don’t mind. The light in the rotunda is better than in my room.”

“You are free to do as you wish,” he said with a smile. “If you are concerned about interrupting me, do not be.”

“Great. I’ll see you downstairs in a bit, then,” she returned his smile with one of her own.

It wasn’t bad. Actually, it was rather pleasant. Solas sat up on his platform while she curled up on the sofa with a book. Occasionally, she found herself being drawn to how he painted, his fingers curled around the brush, each brush stroke carefully and meticulously placed, and she caught herself thinking, with a pang, that his hands were meant for creating art and beauty, not for war.

She found herself starting to become… conflicted. She was in the same room as him, after a nightmare involving him, but now she felt… safe. Secure. There was a calmness about him, peace in his expression, and his pleasure at what he was doing could be seen by the way the corners of his lips quirked as he navigated his brush over the plaster. 

It felt… homey. Familiar. Comfortable.

Fear of the Dread Wolf slipped away from her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dagna! Kirkwall! Fen'harel! Poor Samarra has much to deal with :(
> 
> * * *
> 
> So I wrote a 4000 word chapter today on Emprise du Lion [read: I sat and _forced_ myself to write something] and when I'm re-reading it I just feel like it's utter crap and _ugh_ I just want to delete it guuhhhh
> 
> Come hang out with me on [tumblr](http://roguelioness.tumblr.com/), we can chat about stuff and I might slip you a spoiler or two if I'm feeling evil muhahaha


	67. Sea Travels and Strange Requests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samarra sets off for Kirkwall.
> 
>  
> 
> _Warning: Some dub-con._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> To ladydracarys and ecemito, for all the support and kindness. It's more appreciated than you will ever know. ❤

She set off with Helena’s party, a group of ten, most of the Inner Circle accompanying her save Varric and Vivienne. The First Enchanter claimed she had been called away on urgent business to Val Royeaux - Samarra suspected that Duke Bastien must have taken a turn for the worse - Varric had been only too ready to accompany her to Kirkwall. Samarra and Varric would travel with the others as far as West Hill, after which they would be taking a ship across the Waking Sea to Kirkwall.

She wondered if Isabela was their naval contact.

Solas, of course, had been displeased, but even he couldn’t argue against Helena’s insistence that he go with them, seeing as how he was the mage who had the most talent in healing. Cole hadn’t been happy to leave her either, but Varric promised him that he’d take good care of her and that had mollified the spirit. 

The group was a boisterous one, and she found herself riding between the Hawke twins. Garrett was the more diplomatic one, although he could be funny if he chose to, while Marian was all sarcasm. She was regaled with countless stories about their friends, and Marian had laughingly told her about Sebastian. Neither of the twins had thought much of him at the start, but he soon won them - especially Marian - over. He wasn’t the goody-two-shoes Chantry boy that the game had portrayed him to be - he was certainly religious, but he was more world-wise, especially given his past. He had been beyond pissed with Anders, and he still apparently flirted with the idea of invading Kirkwall, but to date Marian (who was his fiancee, funnily enough) and Garrett had managed to talk him out of it.

She’d quietly asked them about Carver, relieved when Marian informed her that they had had Aveline take him out of Kirkwall, to Starkhaven, when they heard about the strange lyrium. Carver was now serving on Sebastian’s personal guard.

Hawkeye, their mabari, was with Sebastian as well. Samarra had to suppress a giggle at the name. She’d come up with it in a moment of boredom, but to actually know he existed in the game… she decided she would have to find some way of meeting him.

“So I hear you’re a good singer, Samarra,” Garrett sidled up to her. “I’m afraid I’m going to need some proof.”

She chuckled. “That’s definitely going to get me to sing,” she teased.

“Oh, come on Crimson, you know you want to,” Varric called out.

“Sing something naughty, yeah?” That was from Sera. “Need a little shaking up ‘round here.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. Give me a moment to think of something.”

 _I know that I'm running out of time_ ,  
_I want it all;_  
_But I wish they'd stop trying to turn me off,_  
_I want it on;_  
_And I'm walking on a wire,_  
_Trying to go higher,_  
_Feels like I'm surrounded, by clowns, and liars,_  
_Even when I give it all away,_  
_I want it all_

_We came here to run it,_  
_Run it, run it._  
_We came here to run it,_  
_Run it, run it._

_Just like fire, burning up the way,_  
_If I could light the world up for just one day;_  
_Watch this madness, colorful charade,_  
_No one can be just like me anyway;_  
_Just like magic, I'll be flying free,_  
_I'ma disappear when they come for me;_  
_I kick that ceiling, what you gonna say?_  
_No one can be just like me anyway._

_And people like to laugh at you cuz they are all the same,_  
_See I would rather go a different way, than play the game._  
_And no matter the weather,_  
_We can do it better,_  
_You and me together, forever, and ever_  
_We don't have to worry 'bout a thing, about a thing._

_We came here to run it,_  
_Run it, run it._  
_We came here to run it,_  
_Run it, run it._

_Just like fire, burning up the way,_  
_If I could light the world up for just one day;_  
_Watch this madness, colorful charade,_  
_No one can be just like me anyway;_  
_Just like magic, I'll be flying free,_  
_I'ma disappear when they come for me;_  
_I kick that ceiling, what you gonna say?_  
_No one can be just like me anyway._

She sped up to join Helena, nudging the Inquisitor with her elbow and grinning wide.

_So look I came here to run it,_  
_Just 'cause nobody's done it;_  
_Y'all don't think I can run it,_  
_But look, I been here, I've done it._  
_Impossible? Please,_  
_Watch, I do it with ease,_  
_You just gotta believe,_  
_Come on, come on with me._

Everyone burst into cheers, and Helena was blushing, though she had a bright smile on her face.

_Just like fire, burning up the way,_  
_If I could light the world up for just one day;_  
_Watch this madness, colorful charade,_  
_No one can be just like me anyway;_  
_Just like magic, I'll be flying free,_  
_I'ma disappear when they come for me;_  
_I kick that ceiling, what you gonna say?_  
_No one can be just like me anyway._

Everyone was laughing and cheering, even after she'd finished, all of them in good spirits. “Pffft”, Sera declared once everyone had quietened down a bit, “that wasn’t dirty at all.”

"I'm sorry, Sera," she apologized with a chuckle, and the blond archer stuck her tongue out at Samarra, and gave her a broad wink, causing her chuckles to turn into full-blown laughter.

“I stand corrected,” Garrett said with a grin. “You have a great voice. And that was a great song - although I'd refrain from actually burning the world,” he teased.

“I mean, you gotta admit, that would make things interesting,” she chuckled.

“I’m sure it would, but maybe let's deal with the current chaos first, hmmm?”

Samarra shook her head and rolled her eyes. She beckoned to him to slow down, and soon the two of them were trailing behind the others. “I was hoping for a discussion,” she said quietly, “about your… you know. Abilities.”

He looked around them carefully. “As long as we keep it down.”

“Of course,” she promised. “I’m just curious to know… how does it feel, exactly to perform blood magic?”

“Why?” he frowned. “Are you thinking about trying it?”

“No,” she hastily assured him, “not at all. I’m really just curious.”

“Well,” he pondered over her question. “It is… difficult, to explain. It’s more of a sensation. You know how it feels to be connected to the Fade? The energy that hums through you?”

She nodded.

“Most of the time, I feel the same way. But when I use blood to fuel my magic, the part of me connected to the Fade weakens, but the power in my blood sings. It’s more… raw, and more primal, more violent than the Fade. It’s more devastating, but it’s very short lived - unless I draw blood from others, I cannot keep using my own blood to sustain my spells, it would kill me.”

“Does it mean you don’t dream?”

“Oh, I do dream, but just not as much as regular mages, I guess. I can still draw from the Fade to fuel my spells, but I would need a little more than a non-blood mage to cast. It was more noticeable in the beginning, when I was just getting used to it. Now, I’m pretty comfortable with it.”

“That spell you cast on me the other day - what was it? It felt like it was heating up my blood.”

He had the grace to look ashamed. “Well, first of all, your blood? Incredibly potent. I don’t remember seeing any blood on you, but I could _sense_ it immediately. It was like drinking several vials of lyrium. The spell I cast was designed to draw out more of your blood; I always use it on my enemies, but I never expected to use it on friends. I apologize for that.”

“You already said sorry,” she reminded him. “Is there a way for a non-blood mage to protect themselves from that kind of spell?”

He frowned. “Usually, most blood mages tend to be weak. They usually resort to blood magic as a last resort, and they inevitably end up getting possessed. There are very few - at least in the south - who have mastered it. Tevinter, of course, is another story. As an aside, I cannot believe that Tevint friend of yours isn’t a blood mage. It’s rather ironic, really, that he isn’t the blood mage and I am.” Garrett laughed. “Anyway, the best way to block that kind of spell is to twist the Veil into a shield of sorts, which is what you did.”

“Wasn’t very successful, though,” she reminded him.

“It gave you enough time to cast another spell. That’s really all you can do. It’s the only way to defend yourself against any kind of magic - you buy yourself enough time to cast a counterspell.”

“Well, huh. You learn something new every day.”

* * *

“A word?” Solas murmured to her as he passed by her, heading into the woods.

She looked around, warily. Everyone was preoccupied, laughing and sharing stories. A few had retired to bed. Certain that no one would notice her absence, she slipped out, and followed him.

She walked till she was out of earshot of her friends. She couldn’t find him anywhere. “Solas?” she called out quietly.

A rustle in the bushes had her readying her mana, lightning sparking at her fingertips. He walked out calmly, his elven eyes glowing in the dark.

“What did you want to talk about?” she asked, slightly flustered, as she clenched her fist and put out the sparks.

“You.” he replied.

“Me? What about me?” she frowned.

“This,” he said, fisting his hand in her hair and bringing his mouth down to claim hers, swallowing the gasp she made. When he pulled away, her cheeks were flushed and her lips were swollen. He grinned at the heat in her eyes, a mix of anger and lust. “That should serve to remind you of who has the bigger claim on you, _da’assan_.”

She shoved him away. “I’m sorry, do I look like some sort of ram that you’ve mistaken for property? ‘Claim’ on me? No one ‘claims’ me. I belong to myself.”

“Yes,” he nodded sagely. “And me.”

She glared at him. “You insufferable… _oaf_!” she spat. “Just… stay the hell away from me!”

“You don’t want me to do that, _da’assan_ ,” he said with a silky smile, walking towards her once again. Trapping her against a tree, he smiled down at her gently. He reached out and cupped her cheek gently, stroking it with his thumb. “You keep denying what burns between us,” he asked quietly. “Why?”

“What can there be between us?” she asked in the same tone. “If we do… get together, then what? We are at war. Either of us could die at any moment. And if we were to come out of this successfully, if we defeat Corypheus, then what? You would not want to stay with the Inquisition; you like to travel. And I have no home save the one I have in the Inquisition. There is only pain and heartbreak at the end of the road. Why should either of us subject ourselves to it?”

“It need not be that way,” he whispered. “You could come with me. We could travel together.”

She was taken aback at his statement, completely and utterly shocked to hear the words from his mouth. Had she heard him correctly? Had he just asked her to accompany him?

_He wants me to go with him? Holy shit. He's essentially asking me what all the Solavellan fans back home have dreamt of. Holy shit, if they ever found out... they'd be so jealous._

_But you know you can't, right? I mean... if you go with him, you'd be helping him. He won't listen to you if you go along with him. You need to stand against him for him to recognize you._

_But he's asking me to go with him! That's... unheard of. I have to fulfill the dreams of all the Solas-mancers!_

_Stop being an idiot, and **think**. You think waltzing with him in the forests will have him listen to you? He'll just misdirect and lead you down his path without you even knowing. No, you can't go with him, you have to protect your heart from him! Fuck him all you want, but sweetie, come on, be serious. This is REAL LIFE, not some game, eh?_

_I fucking hate it when you make sense._ But it was true. She couldn't go with him.

“A party of two, with one of them a woman? We would be attacked. Would you be able to protect me? Would I be able to protect you? Or defend myself? For how long could we travel? What would happen when old age caught up with us? What about the mundanities of daily living, food, shelter, clothing? If I were to accompany you, Solas,”’ she said with a weak smile, “I would be naught but a burden.”

He began to protest, but she cut him off with a small smile. “You are intelligent and thoughtful, arrogant and insufferable, graceful, talented and knowledgeable. I admire you. I respect you. I suppose I can even say I do like you, Solas. In another life…” she trailed off. _One where you do not want to destroy the world, one where you do not intend to inadvertently commit mass genocide, one where you are just you with no mask on and I am just me, unhidden..._ her voice, when she spoke again, was tinged with sorrow and regret. “I’m sorry. I have but one heart and one life and I must guard both well.” _Because I must stop you, or I must change your mind, and I cannot do that if I go with you, because I know you will use me for your own purposes, and I cannot allow that, old wolf._ She slipped out from under his hands and walked away from him, back to camp.

_I know I need to protect my heart. So why does it feel like I’ve made a huge mistake?_

* * *

Isabela was… well. How did one describe a woman self-proclaimed as ‘Queen of the Eastern Seas’?

She was impossible to ignore, that was certain. Tall deep brown boots, well worn, the buckles scuffed with wear. A white tunic - or it had been white at some point of time - was cinched in with a wide, half-corset-like belt, a blue shawl tied casually around her waist. A modified shoulder armor covered her left arm. A blue paisley patterned scarf was wrapped around her head and kept the woman’s dark brown hair out of her face.

She was the walking definition of a swagger. There was an arrogant vibrance that surrounded her. Laugh lines curved around her lips, and crinkled around the corners of her eyes. Her face was smooth, but sunbeaten, from years spent on the seas under the sun. She had the signature Isabela jewellery, the piercing beneath her lip, the round disc-like earrings, the gorgeous statement necklace in gold. It was gold, all of it, Samarra was sure. Her eyes were warm amber, her nose sturdy, her lips perpetually worn in a smirk. If there was a fault in the caramel-skinned beauty’s face, it was her eyebrows, which were a tad on the thin side, but easily forgotten once one gazed into the Rivaini pirate’s eyes.

Isabela had a gorgeous body, there was no denying it. And Samarra couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy when she caught sight of the Rivaini’s… well-endowed… bosom.

“Varric!” Isabela exclaimed cheerfully, when she caught sight of Varric and her. The two of them had split from the Inquisitor’s party once they reached West Hill, and had spent the night at the local tavern before heading for the docks in the morning. “And what do we have here? Who might you be, sweet thing?”

“Isabela, Samarra, Samarra, meet Isabela. She’s our mode of transport. What are you doing this side of the Waking Sea, anyway?”

Isabela made a dismissive gesture. “A little bit of this, a little bit of that. You know how it goes.”

“I do indeed,” the dwarf muttered. “You’re not in any trouble, I hope?”

“Life’s no fun without trouble, Varric, don’t you know that?” Isabela chuckled. She turned to Samarra, eyes glinting lavisciously. “Varric hasn’t mentioned you at all, sweet thing. Such a shame. I think you and I will get along very well.”

Samarra couldn’t help but laugh. “That is an enticing proposition, but I’m afraid I don’t lean that way.”

Isabela only smiled wickedly. “Ahhh, but you’ve never tried a woman before, have you? It’s so much more different than a man. Men are only good for one thing.” She leaned in closer to Samarra. “Women are good for _six_.” she winked.

Varric cleared his throat. “Think we can get going, Rivaini?”

“You’re no fun, Varric,” Isabela pouted.

“Believe me, I’m doing you a favor,” Varric muttered. “The last thing you want is a broody elf after you. And no, I’m not talking about Fenris.”

Samarra stared at him, aghast. He shrugged. “What? Chuckles’ been glaring at Waffles ever since we set off from Skyhold. He’s like a mabari with a bone.”

“Great,” she muttered. “Thanks for that description, dwarf.”

He hooted with laughter, Isabela joining in. “Not what I meant, but works that way, too.”

Travelling by sea in Thedas was… an experience. The only ships she’d been on were cruises, on large, well-maintained, clean ships with ample buffets and well-maintained plumbing. Isabela’s ship was… well, it wasn’t filthy, but it wasn’t sparkling either. It was just wear and tear over the course of years. The decks were covered in little barnacle-like things, and there was a greasy, grimy layer over the walls of the cabin she and Varric were sharing. There was no plumbing like in Skyhold; instead, the crew had to settle for a bucket in a tiny water closet. Isabela had informed her, with a laugh, to be careful - the bucket had a habit of tipping over when the ship sailed through rough waters.

Samarra vowed to refrain from using it till they reached shore.

Isabela’s crew gave her a few lingering leering looks, but for the most part kept to themselves. Samarra wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or not - secretly, she’d been hoping to converse with some of them, and hear their stories.

The trip to Kirkwall would take a day, and she spent most of the daytime with Varric and Isabela, listening to them banter and exchange tales. She wasn’t surprised to learn that Isabela was one of the contacts in Varric’s spy network, and the Rivaini pirate gave him some details, several of which made the dwarf chuckle in glee. She spent some time staring out at sea; the sight of the crystal blue-green waves topped by the white seafoam should have been soothing, but she was more distracted by the sight of the aquatic life. Fish of several different colors and sizes swam in the waters, and she thought she could see creatures that resembled sea lions and walruses. Isabela pointed out to her a creature she called ‘mabari of the sea’, that looked remarkably like the dophins on earth - the Rivaini pirate explained they were called that because they had a tendency to befriend sailors. Samarra could definitely feel that the currents were stronger, the waves crashed ferociously into the sides of their ship, making Samarra afraid they were going to tip over any minute. But no one else seemed to pay any mind; in fact she overheard the first mate praise the calm weather. She knew one thing for certain - she would never travel by sea if there was even the slightest chance of a storm.After a decent dinner of seafood stew and bread, she and Varric retired to their tiny cabin.

“So, what next?” she asked him.

“We’ll reach Kirkwall mid-morning tomorrow, Isabela says. Aveline will be waiting for us, with Merrill. We’ll be staying with Aveline; it’ll raise too much suspicion if we stay in the Hawke mansion” He looked a little apprehensive. “Look, Crimson, I know this is your first time out on your own, so you’re going to have to be careful. Kirkwall’s not like Haven, or any of the places you’ve been frolicking in so far. Keep a dagger close to you at all times. Keep your hood up. Keep your eyes open. Keep your purse safe. Other than that, the best way to get information is to buy a couple of drinks.”

“Noted,” she said. “What exactly is the plan to get to the Emporium?”

“You can’t really go there during the day, the place is impossible to find. We spend the day at Aveline’s place, visit the Emporium at night, get what we need, and make our way back. I got a couple of things to do, so you’ll spend the next day with Merrill, and we return with Isabela the day after that.”

“Sounds like a solid plan. We’ll have enough time to get the schematics to Dagna and Harritt.”

He gave her a curious look. “This thing that’s coming up… it’s going to be a shitstorm, isn’t it? Like Haven?”

“We’re doing what we’re doing so it _doesn’t_ become a shitstorm, Varric.” 

As they approached the harbor the next morning, Samarra caught her first glimpse at the large, imposing wall that gave Kirkwall its name. It was visible for miles, and carved into the cliff side were several sculptures of dragons, large, menacing-looking beasts she took to refer to the Old Gods of Tevinter. Finally, she spotted the Twins of Kirkwall, the large, forty-foot tall statues carved out of stone, that resembled a man enslaved and despairing. She found it incredibly creepy, and had to avert her eyes from the sight as Isabela steered the ship into the narrow channel that lead to Kirkwall’s harbor.

Her first impression of Kirkwall was a city wounded but standing. From the docks - that stunk of rotting fish, urine, and stale beer - she could make out Lowtown and Hightown, the former being marked by shanties and ramshackle huts clustered together haphazardly, a patchwork of dilapidation that reeked of desperation, the latter having large, spacious mansions on higher ground, white marble glinting in the hazy sunlight. She looked around, eagerly taking in the sights, the sounds - and yes, even the scents.

True to her word, Aveline was waiting for them, wearing civilian clothing. Samarra was rather disappointed by that, having hoped to see the stern Guard Captain in her armor, but she’d explained that Donnic was on duty. 

“Is this her?” an excited voice exclaimed from behind her, and Samarra turned around, catching her first glimpse of Merrill.

Merrill was… _beautiful_. Large, olive green eyes looked at her curiously from beneath thin, slender, arched brows. Her nose was slim and delicate, her mouth pretty as a rosebud. Everything about Merrill was dainty and wispy and willowy - so much like other elven women she’d seen.

For a minute, Samarra’s heart lurched. _This is what Solas prefers_ , she reminded herself. _Not you. Never you. You don’t look like her. He would like Merrill, I’m sure._

The thought hurt her. Strange.

Frowning, she reached out to touch Merrill’s vallaslin, only pulling back at the last moment when she remembered it would be rude. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized awkwardly. “I’m Samarra. You must be Merrill.”

“You’ve heard of me?” Merrill looked pleased.

“Varric’s told me about you,” she said with a smile. 

That familiar tingle in her arm. She braced herself. A vision opened up: Merrill’s eluvian, still inert. She saw herself reaching out and touching it’s surface. Whispering the words, _esayan halani_. The mirror activated, allowing her to reach the Crossroads. 

When she snapped out of it, she found the three woman staring curiously at her. “Sorry,” she offered weakly, “I tend to have… spells.”

“Are you alright?” Merrill asked helpfully.

“I will be,” she replied.

They left Isabela to her own devices and made their way through the dirt and grime of Lowtown. Even with her hood up, Samarra felt unsafe; there were many leers and catcalls directed their way. Neither Aveline nor Merrill reacted to them; the guard captain was probably used to it, and Merrill was likely still innocent enough to not understand the crude implications.

“Merrill,” she asked, “You bear Elgar’nan’s vallaslin, do you not?”

The Dalish elf seemed more excited than affronted. “Yes,” she chirped. “In my clan, the First is always given Elgar’nan’s vallaslin. I did not know the shems were knowledgeable in the Dalish ways.”

She smiled faintly.

“Crimson here’s not your typical human, Daisy,” Varric said fondly. 

“Aren’t you?” Merrill chirped again. Really, Samarra was beginning to understand why Merrill was so beloved by everyone. It seemed impossible to hate the young, cheery elf.

“I read a great deal,” she explained. “And my mentor is an elf.”

“You wouldn’t like Chuckles, Daisy,” Varric interjected. “He’s even more broody than Broody.”

“Was he a slave, like Fenris?” Merrill asked innocently.

Samarra snorted in laughter at the mental picture of the Dread Wolf as a slave. “No,” she replied, “he’s an apostate.” _He’s the Dread Wolf, Merrill. The one you’ve read stories about. The one you’ve been warned about. Well, he’s not evil, but… he’s going to kill everyone you know. Maybe even you._

They spent the rest of the journey talking about various Dalish customs; rather, Samarra would ask question while Merrill answered. She didn’t ask the elf about her clan, and Merrill didn’t mention them either. Samarra wasn’t sure whether they were dead or alive - the clan had always seemed… very mean and hostile, but whether it was because of the false information they’d been given by their Keeper, their bad experiences with humans or something else she didn’t know.

But she did suspect Clan Sabrae, if they were still alive, would join the Dread Wolf’s forces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
>  _Esayan halani_ \- I seek assistance
> 
> * * *
> 
> Merrill!!! Ahhh! Aveline and Donnic!! Aaaaahhhhh! Varric in Kirkwall!!! Aaaaahhhhhhhh!!!!
> 
> The song in the chapter is Just Like Fire by Pink [modified slightly]. I recommend listening to it if you can!
> 
> What's going to happen in Kirkwall, I wonder?


	68. Ancient Antiquarians In The City Of Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Emporium isn't just a DLC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Look at the gorgeous sketches of Samarra that [annadonovan](http://annaddonovan.deviantart.com/art/Samarra-Bayart-3-646008743) made! _Look at them_ *smooshes face against them*. Sleepy Samarra! Samarra has _lightning_ in her hand! Lightning!! [yes I'm so freaking out over here, fanart makes me make the most ridonkulous sounds and faces ever]
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
> * * *

Aveline’s home was a pretty, comfortable, mid-sized house, tucked away in the middle of a row of similar-looking houses. The road was narrow, but well-maintained. It reminded her of the middle-class homes on earth. It was only missing a old, wooden picket fence and a small garden out in front with several well-maintained bushes. Vines climbed up the length of the house. It was pretty as a picture, and strangely, it suited Aveline well. The Guard-Captain offered to house Samarra in her bedroom, with Donnic and Varric sharing the guest bedroom, but Samarra declined, stating she would be perfectly comfortable on the floor. Varric grunted, and made a statement about how he wasn’t going to give up the bed, and she just laughed.

They cleaned up, and then the three friends spent the afternoon catching up. She felt like an interloper, but she enjoyed listening to their tales nonetheless, several of the people the mentioned were familiar to her. Donnic returned home for supper, and Merrill joined them as well, so the five of them talked about Kirkwall and its current state, and political happenings. It was all very fascinating and seemed complicated - as politics usually was - but from what she gathered, no one was willing to put their names in for Viscount, everyone terrified of the work involved. Varric grumbled at it, calling the nobles ‘dainty asses whose heads were in the clouds’ and she hid a smile, knowing that he would become Viscount in the future.

It seemed as though Merrill had the same idea. “You should become Viscount, Varric,” she said innocently.

“Me?” Varric blustered. “Daisy, if I do that, who’s going to save the world?” he winked at her.

“Save the world?” the elf’s eyes became wide. “Should I help, too?”

“No, Daisy, you keep doing what you’re doing and we’ll all be fine,” Varric said, shooting Samarra a sharp glance. She kept her mouth shut, but she knew she’d eventually have to tell Varric that Merrill’s help would be needed. 

They set out for the Black Emporium at ten bells, when it was sufficiently dark outside. At this time of night, Kirkwall seemed a different place - no longer the bustling, let’s-make-it-do port city; but a darker, more dangerous one. Shadows lurked in the corners and seemed to follow them. Samarra found herself rapidly whipping her head back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever - or whatever - was creating the shadows, until she was sharply reprimanded by Varric.

“Keep your head straight, and stop acting like a frightened squirrel,” he ordered.

Meekly, she obeyed, stepping in line with him. They wove their way down the secluded streets, ignoring the beggars, the whores, those being mugged and those doing the mugging. She slipped into the side streets when she caught sight of some templars; these ones did not seem corrupted, but one could never be too careful. The last thing she needed was to be collared for being a mage, especially in Kirkwall. They walked through lowtown, which was like walking through a shanty in a third world country, and she found herself avoiding the curious glances directed her way. Varric did seem to be somewhat known, and he was greeted with a cheerful shout every so now and then. 

_I bet it’s nice to come back to a place where everyone knows your name, she thought with a pang._

Finally, they slipped into an alley so dark it would have been readily looked over had Varric not dragged her into it. They made their way down to the end, where there stood a very unremarkable door. It was painted black, to blend in with the alley, and there was no handle, only a rope. Varric tugged at the rope, and the door swung open to reveal a narrow passage. Samarra recognized it from the game, and she suppressed an excited squeal. All along the walls hung strange artifacts - bones, weapons, amulets, statues of all kinds. 

“Watch out for Chauncey, the tiny bear,” a voice boomed. “He looks harmless, but he nips!”

“Whatever you do, don’t stare at the figure in the chair for too long,” Varric muttered.

Minutes later, she wished she’d heeded his words. Xenon the Antiquatarian was more decrepit and dusty than the oldest Egyptian mummies. Skin that was more parchment than skin tightly covered bones. He also seemed to have more limbs than one would find on a normal person… and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know how he got them. He seemed more dead than alive, and she shuddered.

“We have a new visitor!” the voice boomed.

“I’m Samarra Bayart,” she introduced herself politely, “here on behalf of the Inquisition. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Your arm is fascinating!” she shuddered at the sound of his ‘voice’. “Would you consider selling it to me once you have no use for it?”

“I… I think I’ll need it, thank you very much,” she mumbled.

A hacking laugh, and he spoke again. “Yes, of course.”

“Crimson, over here,” Varric called her over to dusty shelf tucked away at the back of the store, filled with rolls of parchments. An equally dusty, nearly-illegible sign at the top of the shelf read out ‘Schematics of Legend’. “I’m assuming this is what you’ve been talking about?”

“Yes,” she said grinning, “this is it.”

They quickly sorted through the pile, debating what to choose and what to leave behind. Samarra had an intricate knowledge of the schematics, having bought every single one of them in the game, but she knew they wouldn’t be able to afford all of them just yet. She decided on the ones she’d picked when she had been rather strapped for cash in the game - the ones she knew would give her the best bang for her buck, so to speak. 

“Okay, I think we should take the Wrath of Lovias for the mages, the Sulevin blade for Bull, Avenger and Wintersbreath for the warriors. The Coiled Strike would be perfect for Cole and Marian. Perseverance would work for Sera and me - I’ll get Dagna to modify mine a little bit.”

Varric totalled up the cost in his head and let out a low whistle. “That’s a pretty large amount of coin to drop in one go.”

“It is, but it’ll really help. The weapons Dagna and Harritt can craft from these will be lethal, nearly unmatchable.”

“Well, we’re going to need armor as well.”

They picked out a few armor designs - Samarra slyly snuck in the schematic for the Keeper robes. Even though they’d been marked as elf-only in the game, there was no such restriction in the real world. Once they had finished up their purchases, Varric rolled up all the schematics and placed them into a metal cylinder that he then swung across his shoulders. They paid the coin to the urchin that the Antiquatarian employed. Apparently, Varric had reached an agreement with Josephine, volunteering to spend his own coin at the store, and Josephine would reimburse him upon his return. A wiser option, Samarra decided, than travelling with several thousands worth of coin. She debated over whether or not to give Chauncey a cuddle, but decided against it when he hissed at her.

They were back at Aveline’s house by one bell. A sleepy-eyed Donnic opened the door for them, asked them if they got what they needed, and when Varric replied affirmatively, he nodded and went back to bed. Samarra settled down on the makeshift bedroll Aveline had spread out for her in the living area, while Varric headed straight for the small guest bedroom.

She was awoken in the morning by the sounds of a fight outside the house. Aveline came rushing out, fully dressed in armor - how had the woman managed that so quickly? - and rushed outside to break it up. Samarra was wide awake by now, and folded up the bedding and linen neatly. Aveline gave her a wry smile when she entered.

“Is it like that everyday?” Samarra asked.

“Most days. The city’s not so bad, but we’re still recovering, and a lot of people like to take advantage of the chaos.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I know Anders was your friend.”

Aveline grimaced. “None of us understood why the Hawkes would hang out with him. I mean, the longer we knew it, the more it was clear something was wrong with him. But Garrett and Marian, I mean, they considered him a brother. It was bad enough that he… did what he did, but to drag them into it? I’ll never forgive him. All those people dead… it took weeks for the blood and flesh to be cleaned up. And even then, you could still smell rotting flesh afterwards.” Aveline sighed. “I think that’s why they left, to be honest. To spend so much time defending and protecting the city, only to have someone you trust tear it apart… I don’t think they forgave themselves for that.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine,” she murmured.

“I hear they’re helping the Inquisition now. You people best keep them safe, you hear me? They’ve been through enough.”

Samarra gave a small smile. “That’s why I’m here.”

Aveline departed for her guard duties, informing her that Merrill would be along to keep her company. Varric left soon after Merrill came, with a strict note to the both of them not leave the house. 

They settled down on the sofa, each feeling slightly awkward. Merrill, as curious as ever, started the conversation by asking her about the Inquisition, about the Inquisitor, the events at Haven, Corypheus, listening to everything Samarra said with wide eyes.

Finally, Samarra took a chance. “Merrill,” she said quietly, “do you still have your eluvian with you?”

Merrill instantly went silent. After a long, awkward silence, she spoke up. “How do you know about that?” she asked, suspicious. “Did Varric or Garrett or Marian tell you?”

She shook her head. “Merrill, what do you know about me?” she asked.

“Varric said you help the Inquisitor. That you’re one of her advisors.”

“He’s… kind of right. But the truth is, I fell out of the Breach, just like the Inquisitor did. And like the Inquisitor has the mark on her hand that will allow her to close rifts, I have something, too.” She raised the sleeve of her tunic to show the markings. “I got these markings. I don’t know what they mean, but they give me visions of the future.”

Merrill was silent, but looked like she was bursting with questions. “One of my visions showed your eluvian, Merrill,” she continued. “I know Varric doesn’t want me to drag you into the Inquisition, but I’m afraid you will end up getting tangled in this. I know you know all there is about known elven history. I will tell you this much, for I cannot tell you everything. At some point in the future, the Inquisition will learn more about elven history. When it happens, you must be there.”

“Elven history?” Merrill’s eyes seemed as though they would fall out of her head. She was excited. “Can I come with you now? I won’t be a bother, I promise. I can help!”

She smiled and patted the young woman’s shoulder. “Not yet, Merrill. If I take you along with me now, Marian, Garrett and Varric will kill me. _Samelava’mah_. (sometime in the future)”

“You speak elven?” Merrill was in shock.

She tapped her markings. “Another thing that the markings have allowed me. I can speak multiple languages.”

“Will you teach me?” Merrill asked wistfully.

“Of course, _falon_. I would be happy to.”

Varric returned earlier than she’d expected, and after a lot of pleading, reluctantly agreed to show her around the city. He took her first to the Gallows. She’d seen it from the harbor, but only up close (not so close, they didn’t want to get the attention of the templars) did she understand just how… depressing it was. Statues of tortured slaves filled the courtyard, and were carved into the exterior. Samarra could feel the dark, sinister magic in the air, the glee of psychopathic magisters, the terror of the slaves mingled together to form an evil song. She felt tendrils of that dark magic wind around her ankles and up her leg, as though it sought to pull her down.

“Let’s get out of here,” she gasped to Varric, who was only to happy to listen.

They went to the Viscount’s Keep, a large, imposing castle that was sternly decorated. The architecture was beautiful nevertheless, with columns and carvings and brass birds decorating the exterior walls. Everything about Kirkwall, she noticed, was stern and unforgiving. Grey buildings, grey walls, grey skies… she wondered why Varric had such an attachment to the city. Purple velvet embroidered with Kirkwall’s insignia hung from the ramparts and the drawbridge. There were few people who entered and left the Keep, and Varric explained it was because Kirkwall had no Viscount. It was the seneschal who maintained order in the meantime, he added. 

He finally took her to the Chantry, or what remained of it. Samarra gasped in horror as her eyes landed on the crater where the Chantry once stood. The ground was blackened, the center of the crater was hard and shiny, as though intense heat had fused the particles in the soil into glass. There was no one around; everyone carefully avoided the area, trying to ignore the visible reminder of the horror that had torn apart their city, and eventually, the south.

“This is what he did,” Varric said quietly. “If you want to defend him, you have to defend this.”

“I don’t defend this,” she said quietly, bending down to pick up one of the blackened rocks. It crumbled to dust under her touch. “What happened here was wrong, Varric; all of it.” she sighed, and stared at the crater. “I can understand why mages are feared, believe me I do, Varric. But to treat them as less than human?” she shook her head. “Meredith was insane, Orsino ended up turning to blood magic... Elthina stood by and did nothing...” she sighed. “What solution was there?” Troubled, she turned to him. “Tell me, how would you have handled the mage-templar relations in Kirkwall?” she challenged.

He had the decency to tell the truth. “I wouldn’t have,” he said. “I’d probably have ignored it, left it alone, like I kept telling the Hawkes.” He sighed. “I suppose it would’ve all gone to shit one way or another.”

“It really would have, Varric. It really would have.” 

They spent the rest of the evening at the Hanged Man with Merrill and Donnic, Aveline being on duty. Frankly, Samarra didn’t understand the appeal - it was dirty and smelly and grimy and filled with people who were crooks, scammers, criminals or just plain crazy. There was grease, stale beer and piss on the floor, congealed to a sticky mess that tried to keep one stuck to one place, there was smoke in the air, so heavy one had to be within a foot of someone else in order to see them clearly, and everyone was either cursing, fighting, spitting, peeing or throwing up. Sometimes more than one of those options.

The longer she was there, though, she began to understand. Everyone recognized everyone else. There was a strange feeling of unity in the tavern. It was a place of respite, where one could come to escape from the hardships of the day - and this being Kirkwall, there were many hardships. People needed a place to go where they knew they would be recognized and welcomed, and that was what the Hanged Man was there for. 

They stumbled back to Aveline’s place, drunk - Donnic was better than them, having been careful about his drinking, bless him - and Aveline was slightly irritated by the sight of three very happy drunk people. Samarra apologized to her, or tried to, explaining that she hadn’t expected the Hirol’s Lava to be so potent. Aveline sighed at that, and tucked her into the sofa.

She passed out soon after, a smile on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
>  _Samelava’mah_ \- sometime in the future
> 
>  _falon_ \- close friend
> 
> * * *
> 
> Schematics of Legend! Wooo! I wonder what's going to happen next...


	69. If Someone Says Something When They're Sick Does It Count?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out Samarra's needed in Crestwood after all...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency - Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Hovertext for the elven - translations are also included in the end notes.
> 
> * * *
> 
> If you're on tumblr and have seen my shenanigans... I apologize. But [feel free to join in](http://roguelioness.tumblr.com/) anytime. I'm always up for shenanigans!

Their journey back to Ferelden was uneventful - or as uneventful as things can be considered, when one was in close quarters with a woman like Isabela. Samarra found herself constantly dodging advances and wandering hands. It appeared that the Rivaini pirate considered Samarra some kind of challenge, and was relentless in her pursuit. Varric was of no help at all; the dwarf found their cat-and-mouse chase immensely amusing, and Samarra caught him making notes in a notebook on more than one occasion.

Thankfully, they arrived at West Hill early in the morning, and Isabela was genuinely sad to see the two of them leave. With a promise to see her later, they departed from the docks, only to be met by several grim-faced Inquisition scouts.

“Lady Bayart?” one of them stepped forward.

“Call me Samarra, please,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve been waiting for you for two days, my lady. We’ve orders to take you to Crestwood.”

“Crestwood?” she frowned. “What happened? Is everyone okay? Did something happen to the Inquisitor?”

“The Inquisitor is safe. It is one of her companions. The elven apostate was injured, and is gravely ill. The Inquisitor wants you to travel to the village to help him. The villagers there could also use some help.”

“Of course,” she said, worried. She turned to Varric. “Varric, you better get those plans to Skyhold.” He nodded. “Are any of you returning to Skyhold?” she asked. Two of the scouts nodded. “Okay, Varric, you should probably go with them. When you get to Skyhold, give the schematics to Dagna, she’ll know what to do. Tell her that I’ll return… in a week or two, I think.”

She swung her pack across her shoulders, and attached her bow to the holder. “Let’s get moving,” she said grimly.

She waved to Varric as he left, and joined the rest of the Inquisition scouts on the supply wagon that was headed to the Village of Crestwood. She was brought up to speed by the scouts; apparently the town was still being besieged by the undead, but the Inquisitor was working on a way to get access to the dam to drain the lake. The mayor had been acting shady, and someone was keeping a close eye on him. The villagers were terrified, their numbers dwindling, but with the Inquisition’s help the village was better reinforced and better able to withstand further assaults. Some of the Inquisitor’s companions had offered to remain behind in the village, to help protect it, and also to keep an eye on the elven mage, given that there were no healers in Crestwood.

“What about supplies?” she asked.

“Whatever’s in the wagon is what we have. Food, clothing, some medical supplies to tide them over. There’s a wagon with building supplies coming this way; we don’t want to bring it in till the bandits have been cleared out,” Scout William explained.

“Is there anyone who can take over as healer in Crestwood after I leave?” she asked.

“Once we stabilize the region, the villagers will return. Most of them have spread out across the region, trying to shelter themselves the best that they can. Between the undead and the bandits, Crestwood hasn’t been so lucky.”

“How many remain in the village?”

“About fifty people, and that’s a generous estimate. We’re getting a couple of stragglers every few days, but nothing serious. The villagers are starving; they can’t tend their farms because of the undead, and whatever they did have has been looted by those cursed bandits. But I have faith the Inquisitor will end those vile creatures, and return what belongs to the villagers.”

“Any news on Caer Bronach?”

The scout looked at her, amazed. “We’ve been scouting it for sometime, trying to find a way in. They’re pretty heavily boarded up in there. There’s no way to take over the keep short of charging our way in. That’s why the Inquisitor’s been delayed - we’re waiting for reinforcements.”

“Good. She’ll hopefully take it soon. They’ll have several archers, best be prepared for that.”

“Yes, my lady. I’ll let Sister Nightingale know at once.”

“And the Inquisitor too.”

“Of course.” 

Crestwood was… dreary. There was no other word for it. Dismal rain poured over a dismal landscape. The colors seemed blurred, as though the rain had smeared them. She found herself cursing under her breath as they trudged along the cobblestoned road, raindrops slithering down her neck and under her armor. Even the makeshift rain jacket that the lead scout at the base camp had given her did little to keep the rain away. 

When they broke out of the dense, woody area into a clearing, she stopped short. There, in the center of the lake, gleaming eerily, was the rift. Judging by the size of it, it looked to be a large one. She remembered that the rift was actually beneath the surface, in the caves beneath. For it to be seen visibly on the surface… it must have been a large one, indeed.

She really, really hoped she wouldn’t have to go down the caves with Helena. She… she hated closing that rift in the game.

The scouts patted her back sympathetically. “That’s one damnation of a rift,” he nodded sagely. “But the Inquisitor will close it, no problem. She said so herself.”

“She’ll need to get to it first,” Samarra muttered. “I hope she finds a way, fast. That thing needs to be closed.”

A warning cry rang out. “Undead!”

_Well, fuck me sideways and call me Bob. This is all I need, fucking zombies. I fucking hate zombies. Didn't Thedas get the memo?_

She took up position on high ground along with the rest of the scouts, and from here she could see the undead - decomposing flesh slowly sliding off their bones, missing an eye, sometimes two, some lacking a jaw… she forced herself not to heave. “Aim for their heads,” one of the scouts instructed her, and she nocked her arrows and did just that, gagging slightly as her arrows lodged themselves into eye sockets, and, in one instance, exposed decaying brain.

There weren’t many of them, which was a blessing, although scout William warned her they’d be more as the approached the village. She went to retrieve her arrows, and this time she did throw up as the smell of the rotting corpses hit her. It didn’t help that her arrows were covered in decaying flesh, either, and she did her best to clean them off as best as she could. No one mocked her for her weak stomach, William admitting to her _sotto voce_ as they made their way towards the village that he too had hurled his lunch when he’d first battled the undead.

They were unlucky enough to face several groups of undead as they made their way to the village. The corpses were usually in groups of five or six, but when they reached the village they saw fifteen zombies attacking the gates. They were being held off by the Hawkes, a man with a moustache she knew immediately to be Stroud, a blonde man she assumed to be Anders, and… _James_?

She blinked.

She blinked again.

 _James_ was still there, slicing neatly through a corpse’s torso.

She couldn’t breathe.

“Get them!” William’s voice pushed her out of her shock, and she immediately took up flanking positions. With a casual sweep of her hand, the corpses were set on fire, and they went down easily. She made her way with the rest of the scouts to the village gates.

“Scout William reporting, sirrah Hawke. I have with me the healer.”

The blonde man looked at her appraisingly. “You’re the healer?” he asked, in a tone that implied disbelief. “You’re not even a mage!”

She rolled her eyes. “You must be Anders. Nice to meet you.” She turned to the other two men, trying very hard not to stare at the man who looked so much like James. This close, she could make out the differences. This man had brown eyes, and sandy brown hair. His eyes were a tad smaller than James’, and his mouth wider. He was also taller and more muscular than her deceased fiance. 

“You must be Warden Jean-Marc Stroud,” she said with a smile to the mustachioed man. “And you,” finally turning to the last one, “must be Warden Alistair Theirin, last of the Theirin line.”

Alistair whistled. “The Inquisitor wasn’t joking when she said you were a seeress,” he said. 

She laughed; it sounded a little forced. “I would love to get to know you better, but I believe there is a patient waiting for me?”

Anders huffed. “I could heal him if they’d just let me,” he griped. “I am a spirit healer, after all.”

“I’m sure the lack of faith in your abilities has nothing to do with all the deaths you caused in Kirkwall,” she said pleasantly. “Exactly what a spirit healer would do.”

His entire being flashed blue, an indication she knew all too well implied Justice - or Vengeance - was taking over. “Hush!” she commanded sternly, causing everyone to look taken aback. _“[Elgar’nan, na nuas bel’vhen. Na neal durlahn. Ar dirthan mah’melava.”]()_

The blue glow receded, but Anders stood in shock, his mouth agape. “How did you do that?” he demanded. “Justice never listens to anyone but me!”

“Later,” she said firmly. “Where is Solas? What happened to him?”

Marian spoke up. “He took an arrow to the chest from a corpse archer, fool idiot was trying to protect a villager. Punctured his lungs well and good.” The raven-haired rogue looked grim. “We tried to give him healing potions, and that stopped the bleeding, but it didn’t help. He finds it hard to breathe. The other mages - Dorian and Vivienne, I believe? - they said they don’t have the necessary knowledge to treat the internal injuries. And Solas himself is too weak to heal himself, he keeps sliding in and out of consciousness. And the Inquisitor wasn’t a huge fan of letting Anders here treat the elf.”

“Rightfully so,” Garrett muttered, earning him a glare from Anders.

“Right. Okay. I’m going to need some clean water, some clean cloth, and some healing potions. William!” she called the scout over. “What medical supplies do we have?”

“Enchanter Ellandra sent us potions of all kinds, ser Samarra.”

“Get me the crate, will you? I don’t know which ones I’ll need. Will someone please take me to him?” she demanded.

“Of course,” Garrett lead the way. She ignored the fact that three curious wardens trailed behind her.

The hut he was being kept in was… well, they’d tried to keep it clean, but it was damp and smelled of mold and rotting wood. She recoiled when she saw how pale, weak and frail he appeared to be. In that instant, she didn’t see the ancient elven god, she saw a man who could die without help. 

Her heart lurched. She stepped inside quietly. He was awake, and tried to turn his head at the noise, but groaned in pain instead. _“[Sha, sha, ma falon,]()”_ she soothed. _[“Ame amahn.”]()_ She took his hand in hers, checking his pulse rate. His heart was racing, beating faster than it should be, and his skin burnt with a fever. “Were you so eager to see me that you found a way to drag me here?” she joked weakly, trying to cover her panic.

_“[Brithan na ina’lan’ehn sal’in? Vin.”]()_

_“[Juesayan sal’in’iseth’em.”]()_

_“[Ithal ma gon’ra nu.”]()_

_“[Dian! Tel’dirthas’ra.”]()_

_“[Tel’ahnsul?”]()_

_“[Mar nu tel’ele on’rahn.”]()_

_“[Na telsilas sul’em.”]()_

_“[Telsilan sul’ga’lin.”]()_

_“[Y’na neras’em.”]()_

_“[Neran’em, vin. Neran bel’vhen.”]()_

_“[Ma fenor’asha.”]()_

She froze, and stared at him with wide eyes. He looked at her with a wolfish grin.

_“[Dianas. Na tel’sulevas’ra.”]()_

_“[Ar sulevan’ra. Na tel’harthas’em dirthan’ra.”]()_

_“[Ar tel’eolasan ahn na nuvenas o'ma!”]()_

_“[Na eolasas. Tel’nuvenas eolasa.”]()_

She shook her head in disbelief. _“[Ane telom. Tel’eolasas ahn ane’dirtha.”]()_

_“[Tel’nere.”]()_

She changed topics, realizing their conversation was going nowhere. She spoke briskly, and in Common. “How much pain are you in?”

Solas recognized the shift in mood and responded appropriately, much to her relief. “A great deal, although it is not entirely unbearable. I suspect a collapsed lung.”

She placed her hand gently on his chest, trying not to grimace at the sight of the grisly looking scar. As he’d said, he had a collapsed lung. She suspected that the injury had introduced air into his chest cavity, which then filled the space between his chest and his lungs, causing the lung to collapse. It wasn’t fatal, but it would cause a lot of pain.

She continued her examination, grimacing when she noted a blood clot near in one of the capillaries of the collapsed lung. She’d have to dissolve that first before she re-inflated the lung. And reinflating the lung would require her to make a puncture hole in his chest, and she’d need a chest tube… none of which she had.

She sighed, and Solas caught it. “I take it the news is not positive?”

“No,” she shook her head. “It’s not terrible, I can treat it. I find myself lacking certain tools. Never mind, I’ll just have to get creative.”

“A prospect that is as intriguing as it is frightening,” he said with a small smile.

“Joke all you want, but I am going to punch you for your carelessness once I finish treating you,” she threatened.

“That would be rather counterproductive, would it not, to send me into a state of injury after I have only just recovered from one?”

“Yeah, well, you deserve it,” she muttered, as she gently prodded the scar tissue. She glanced up as William walked in with the crate of potions. “Oh, thank you very much, William. Now, I don’t suppose you’d have a small dagger with you, would you?”

William’s eyes widened. “Are you going to operate on _ser_ Solas?” he asked as he unsheathed the dagger from his belt and handed it to her.

“A little bit, yes.” She rummaged through the crate, pulling out the bleach with a triumphant cry. Diving back in, she found a vial of pain relief elixir and lyrium potion, and took those out along with a healing potion.

“Alright, Solas,” she briskly ordered, “you’re going to have to drink this, I’m afraid. Don’t want you hurting any more than you already are.” She gently and slowly raised his shoulders, and pressed the vial to his lips. He swallowed slowly, wincing as the action caused him pain.

 _“[Ir abelas,”]()_ she murmured, unhappy at the sight of him in pain.

 _“[Tel’abelas,”]()_ he said when he had finished drinking the potion. “It is not your fault.”

 _“[Ar tel’la’ra ane nu.”]()_

_“[Ane tundra,”]()_ he responded with a smile.

 _“[Ane elvar,”]()_ she complained with a half-smile.

 _“[Y’ar’la’na”]()_ he teased.

She shook her head in mock frustration. She was admittedly very much relieved to find that he wasn’t in as serious a condition as she had feared. She had been very worried the entire journey… and she couldn’t understand why. Finally, she rationalized to herself that it was because she did consider him a friend, much like she did Helena, even if their relationship was… strange.

“You have a clot in one of the capillaries in the collapsed lung,” she explained. “I’ll have to dissolve that first before I tackle the lung. I’ll have to make a small cut to draw the excess air out of your chest. Once I do that, it will reinflate your lung, and I can close the wound.”

He nodded in understanding. “I trust you, Samarra,” he said quietly, and a sudden burst of warmth bloomed through her. With a smile, she placed her hand gingerly on his chest, and pulsed her magic so that it would dissolve the clot. His mana curled up around her magic contentedly, and she felt as though… she was so very tempted to just let hers mix with his. Which, of course, was dangerous. When she felt the solid clot liquefy and dissolve, she pulled back, satisfied. 

“This next part, I’m afraid, will hurt a little,” she said apologetically.

“No matter,” he braced himself. “Do what needs to be done.”

She cleaned the dagger with bleach several times, then did the same to the skin around the incision site. Pressing the dagger against his skin, she kept a firm hand as she controlled how deep it entered his flesh. She heard a tell-tale hiss, and immediately pulled out the dagger. Blood gurgled out of the wound, much to the bystanders alarm, but she placed two fingers around the edges of the wound and used her magic to manipulate the air inside his chest and pull it out. She could feel his lung slowly re-inflating as she did so, relieved to see that no lasting damage had been done to the organ. Once it was fully inflated, she swabbed the wound once more with the diluted bleach solution, then sealed and closed the edges of the wound with her magic.

She tried not to panic at the sight of her hands, coated in his blood. Her hands were coated in his blood. In Fen’harel’s blood. The blood of an ancient elven god...

 _Focus, Samarra! You’re not done yet. Focus!_ Frowning at the sight of the scar, she circled her finger around it, using the technique Solas had taught her to turn the scar tissue into normal tissue.

She immediately washed her hands clean, swallowing hard at the sight of the red water in the bowl. Only when William took the bowl away did she manage to fully snap out of the fearful haze she had been in. Finally, she cleaned the dagger in water, then in bleach, and returned it to an awe-struck William with a word of thanks. Turning her attention back to her patient, she spoke softly. “How do you feel?”

He raised a trembling hand and prodded his chest. “Much better,” he said. “Quite normal, in fact.”

“Excellent,” she said, pleased. “You’ll need to rest for a day or two, of course. I’ll have someone bring some broth in; you’re to have only fluids today, and we’ll start you on solid food tomorrow. You can start walking around the day after - you’ve had that collapsed lung for quite some time now, I want you to take it easy.”

“As the Chief Surgeon orders,” he replied with a smile.

“You bet. I’ll check in on you, but I think it’s best if you get some sleep now,” she said gently, placing a hand on his forehead and casting a sleep spell. He gripped her wrist. _“[Ma serannas, falon,”]()_ he said quietly. She flushed. _“[Sathem. Y’ar telir shivanan.”]()_ He gave her a quick smile as his eyelids fluttered shut, and soon he drifted off to sleep.

Her mind relieved, she cleaned up the spilled blood and other body fluids with a piece of cloth, then ignited the cloth outside. “Well,” she sighed, as she caught sight of the Hawke twins, “what next?”

Marian broke into a smile. “Don’t ask me,” she grinned. “I bet Garrett here it’d take you a week to fix him up. Not my fault you finished up early.”

“You owe me twenty gold,” Garrett reminded his sister, and she laughed. 

“You bet on me?” she asked them, amused.

“We bet on you,” a voice behind her corrected her. She spun around to find Alistair staring at her amusedly. “Only Garrett here thought you could heal the elven apostate in a day. The rest of us, I’m afraid to say, did not share his faith. Consider me thoroughly impressed, my lady.”

She blushed. “I do what I can,” she shrugged it off.

“I thought you weren’t a mage?” Anders chimed in, a hard look on his face.

“No, you _assumed_ I wasn’t a mage,” she rolled her eyes.

“You carry a bow, not a staff, with you!” he argued.

“So?” she quirked her brow at him. “I can’t be a mage and an archer? What a limited outlook in life you have.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, and she did the same. “Back off, Anders,” she barked. “I’m not in a mood to deal with you yet. If you think I’m afraid of you, think again.”

He was surprised at her statement. “You told Justice that…”

“That we’ll talk later, yes,” she cut him off. “But, as you can see, I’ve just arrived here, I’m cold, I’m wet, I’m hungry, and I have a patient to keep an eye on and I have yet to check up on the villagers here. When I say later I mean, ‘after I’ve had a chance to sort through shit’, do you understand?”

Garrett coughed, but it sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

“Fine,” Anders reluctantly conceded. “I’ll wait.”

“Thank you,” but her tone was more matter-of-fact than polite. “Now,” she said, looking around, “where’s the food?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
>  _Elgar’nan, na nuas bel’vhen. Na neal durlahn. Ar dirthan mah’melava._ \- Spirit of vengeance, you have hurt enough people. You will be quiet. I will talk to you later.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **First part with Solas**
> 
>  
> 
>  _Sha, sha, ma falon. Ame amahn._ \- Hush, my friend. I'm here.
> 
>  _Brithan na ina’lan’ehn sal’in? Vin_ \- to look at your pretty face? yes.
> 
>  _Juesayan sal’in’iseth’em_ \- you will make me blush
> 
>  _Ithal ma gon’ra nu_ \- Seeing you is worth this pain
> 
>  _Dianas! Tel’dirthas’ra_ \- Stop! Don’t speak like that
> 
>  _Tel’ahnsul?_ \- why not?
> 
>  _Mar nu tel’ele on’rahn_ \- your pain is not good thing
> 
>  _Na telsilas sul’em_ \- you worry for me
> 
>  _Telsilan sul’ga’lin_ \- i worry for everyone
> 
>  _Y’na neras’em_ \- But you like me
> 
>  _Neran’em, vin. Neran bel’vhen_ \- I like you, yes. I like many people
> 
>  _Ma fenor’asha_ \- my precious woman
> 
>  _Dianas. Na tel’sulevas’ra_ \- Stop. you don’t mean it
> 
>  _Ar sulevan’ra. Na tel’harthas’em dirthan’ra_ \- I mean it. You don’t want to listen to me speak it
> 
>  _Ar tel’eolasan ahn na nuvenas o'ma_ \- I don’t know what you want from me!
> 
>  _Na eolasas. Tel’nuvenas eolasa_ \- you know. You don’t want to understand
> 
>  _Ane telom. Tel’eolasas ahn ane’dirtha_ \- you are not well. You don’t know what you’re saying
> 
>  _Tel’nere_ \- not likely
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Second part with Solas**
> 
>  
> 
>  _Ir abelas_ \- Don't be sorry
> 
>  _Tel’abelas_ \- Don't be sorry
> 
>  _Ar tel’la’ra ane nu_ \- i do not like that you are in pain
> 
>  _Ane tundra_ \- you are kind hearted
> 
>  _Ane elvar_ -you are difficult
> 
>  _Y’ar’la’na_ \- but you like me
> 
> * * *
> 
>  _Ma serannas, falon_ \- thank you, my friend
> 
>  _Sathem. Y’ar telir shivanan._ you’re welcome. But i only did my duty.
> 
> * * *
> 
> This was a bitch of a chapter to edit and format *grumbles and shakes fist at laptop*
> 
> Have I mentioned how much I hate the undead? It's a lot. A whole lot. 
> 
> Why do I torture myself with trying to translate stuff into elvhen? It's not like it's easy, or that I'm any good at it... *pictures Solas shaking his head very disapprovingly* IR ABELAS EGGHEAD
> 
> Poor Solas. It's a good thing Samarra caught him in time. I wonder what Anders thinks of this whole business? How is Samarra going to deal with Crestwood now? How is she going to deal with "James"? What even is going on? :O


	70. Getting To Know The Crestwood Crew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samarra settles into Crestwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> Sooo... pretty sure [annadonovan](http://annaddonovan.deviantart.com/art/Samarra-clothing-designs-640715083) is completely spoiling me, because just look at these designs for Samarra's clothes! Pretty sure I want that sleep wear. And that WOLF COAT, y'all! LOOK AT IT'S MAGNIFICENCE.
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
> * * *

“So,” she said, as they huddled together in the tent pitched for the Inquisition on one corner of the village, “just how insane has Clarel become?”

Again, shocked faces met hers. She shrugged. “You’re going to have to stop acting so shocked about this all the time, you know. It gets old.”

Stroud spoke up, a little angrily. “If you knew what the Warden Commander was going to do, why didn’t you stop her?”

She tore off a piece of bread and popped it into her mouth. She chewed on it thoughtfully. “Well, because first of all, I don’t know who would have believe me had I accused the Warden Commander of turning to blood magic. Second, and more importantly, had I succeeded in convincing the Inquisitor that it was happening, they would have set off to confirm it for themselves, and would have gotten themselves slaughtered in the process. And trust me, things get _very_ bad if the Inquisitor dies.”

Marian sighed. “It’s true. I doubt I would have believed it had I heard it from someone not in the order,” she agreed.

“So, what happens next?” Alistair asked curiously.

She exhaled heavily. “There’s going to be a brutal battle.”

Her words hung in the air.

“Can we stop it? Alistair asked hopefully.

“No,” she shook her head. 

“Where will it be? Who will be fighting? What will happen?” They pelted her with questions, but she only shook her head. “We’ll discuss this when we get back to Skyhold. I’m not talking about it here. But I will say one thing,” she wagged her finger threateningly at the Hawkes and the Wardens. “There will be a time when the two of you will have a difference of opinion. At that point of time you are going to remember me and NOT argue. You cannot afford to.”

She didn’t tell them that there might be a chance that they might not come out of the battle alive.

_No_ , she vowed, _I won’t let that happen. Solas will come through. I’ve already made a deal with him. He won’t let them die…_

She had to hope. She had to.

She wouldn't be able to bear it if any of them died...

She found it very, very difficult to converse with Alistair. Not only did he bear a remarkable resemblance to James, he was calm, collected and charming, just like James. Gone was the blushing, stammering, innocent virgin of Dragon Age Origins (although, if she were honest, the poor man had lost his virginity thoroughly thanks to her female Cousland!). He had grown up and matured, and… and she’d romanced him so many times it felt like she knew him, intimately.

But out here, in the midst of the pouring rain in a dreary, hopeless village being besieged by the undead, here, she wasn’t supposed to know him. And so she found herself remaining silent in his presence, afraid of letting something slip out that she wasn’t supposed to.

She spent the rest of the day checking in on the villagers. Most of them were beyond grateful to have a healer in their midst, and she found herself examining every one of them. There weren’t many villagers remaining - a little over two dozen - the rest having fled elsewhere, or… were dead. There were many stone markers on the slope of the gentle hill behind the village. Samarra chose not to count them.

For the most part the villagers were healthy. Malnourishment was the main concern, their farms and crops having been destroyed. And with the rain - and the undead - they had been unable to plant more. Thanks to the Inquisition’s supplies, they were slowly mending. The people definitely had improved moods; the knowledge that the Inquisitor was going to put an end to the scourge of the undead and the bandits, and the fact that the Inquisition was providing them with much-needed supplies and a means to rebuild had the villagers regaining some hope.

There were a few cases of pneumonia, which she treated with Ander’s help - she had to admit that the man was an incredibly skilled healer, and knew she would be grateful for his help come Adamant and the Arbor Wilds. The other concern for her was the mold and the rot in the wooden cottages, which was definitely not helping the health of the villagers. Unfortunately, considering it was constantly raining there wasn’t much she could do.

Helena and her companions were on their way back from Three Trout camp, to meet the Inquisition soldiers that Cullen had sent over for them to attack Caer Bronach. Samarra was also looking forward to meeting them, and finding out what was going to be required of her. If they wanted her to help close the rift, she would fling herself at the undead instead.

Not really, but the sentiment remained.

Solas was healing well. She made sure he did not over-exert himself, sharply barking at him when he tried to do something that she did not approve of. He had healed sooner - and better - than she’d expected - likely as a result of who he was - and so she thought it was safe to let him walk around. She would not let him use his magic yet, worried it would be an unnecessary strain on him.

Still, she caught him soothing a child who’d gashed his leg on a rock. The little one miraculously had no scar from his ordeal. When she questioned him later, he only shrugged and smiled. She hadn’t had the heart to chastise him, because helping those who were weaker than he was, helping those who were in pain… that was part of who he was.

And it was something that softened her heart each time she saw him soothe away fears of children and adults in his deep, sonorous, composed voice.

She was slipping, she knew it, and she fought, but when she saw him like this, gentle, patient, kind, caring... how was she supposed to defend herself against _that_?

She hadn’t had a chance to properly talk to Anders yet. She didn’t want to alarm any of the villagers by alerting them to who - or what - he was, and had instead told him they would hash things out once they returned to Skyhold, which he seemed amenable to. With that matter behind them, she was surprised to find that the apostate had a wry, dry sense of humor. He was kind, and caring, and generous to a fault - often giving his rations to someone he needed more. Anders wasn’t the man he had been in Act 3, the angry, vengeful, near-insane apostate. At times, she had to remind herself of what he’d done, because he seemed so… _nice_. He was intelligent and knowledgeable in potion-making, alchemy and therapeutics, and she found herself eagerly listening to all that he had to say, noting down his recipes and his treatments for a variety of issues.

The Hawkes had soon become her partners-in-crime; she adored Marian’s sarcastic humor, and Garrett was a loveable oaf. The three of them regularly had the stupidest of contests, ranging from who could take out most of the undead (she and Garrett inevitably won, thanks to their magic abilities, a fact that aggrieved Marian no end) to who could eat their stew the fastest (Garrett; the man had all the table manners of a mabari). 

Stroud she found kind and knowledgeable, if fairly introverted, and she had several conversations with him about his experiences as a Warden, and sympathized with him about the atrocities of the Great Game. She knew he felt terribly betrayed by Warden Commander Clarel, and found herself wondering why the woman had so suddenly taken leave of her senses. She suspected blood magic; from how Stroud spoke of her, the woman was honorable and eager to help. For her to resort to such desperate measure spoke of something beyond the desperate terror Erimond claimed that the Wardens were experiencing.

She and Alistair were fairly aloof at first, mainly because of how shy she felt around him, but he broke the ice by commenting on the cheese she was (unashamedly) voraciously eating. She’d completely forgotten he was an ardent cheese lover, - how, she didn't know, hadn't she thought of him when she'd enjoyed her first Thedosian cheese - and soon they were talking about the various cheeses Thedas had to offer. From there, conversation flowed naturally, and she found herself opening up and laughing with him in a way she hadn’t been able to do with anyone.

Something that wasn’t unnoticed by Solas, apparently.

“You seem to be getting along well with Warden Alistair,” he commented casually as she came to check in on him.

“Hmmm?” she was too busy checking his pulse and listening to his heart and lung function to reply immediately. It also felt strange to talk about another man when her ear was pressed to his chest. “Yes, he’s a very sweet man,” she smiled as she pulled away, his wrist in her hand as she took his pulse. “Easy to talk to.”

“I can see that,” he replied in the same tone. “Is it because he comes from royal blood? A royal bastard is certainly better than a commoner.”

She felt her face heat up in anger. Struggling to rein in her temper, she spoke as calmly as she was able. “That he is of the Theirin lineage makes no difference to me. He is a good person, which does make a difference to me.

“Does he know about what lies between us?” Solas asked her abruptly. 

She dropped his hand and hissed impatiently. “There is nothing to tell him. Firstly, because, ummm, why would I ever bring something like that up in the middle of a casual conversation? And secondly, there is no ‘us’. There will not be an ‘us’. There was one night of madness, and that is all.” She reached for the tent flap, intending to leave.

He grabbed a fistful of her tunic and pulled her backwards. He pressed his lips to hers, hot and hungry and needy, and she was compelled to give in to his demands. She could no more ignore what he asked than a raincloud could ignore its need to create rain. He nipped at her sharply, soothed away the sting with a slow, soft brush of his tongue, successfully persuading her to grant him entrance. And when she made to retort, he stole the words from her mouth, pulling her slyly into a haze of warm heat. She soon found herself edging towards that whirlpool of insanity, falling in the thick syrup of pleasure he created within her.

Struggling, she finally shoved him away, but she knew her lips would be swollen, her eyes impassioned and over-bright. “Stop this” she hissed at him. “What do you intend to prove by constantly pulling me towards you? That I can’t resist you?”

“I intend to make you see what you so resolutely remain blind to,” he answered calmly. “You deliberately ignore what lies between us. I will not have you wander off to another when you remain so willfully ignorant of what we have.”

“What we have is nothing!” she threw her hands up in the air, frustrated. “Why can’t you accept that?” she looked away, hoping he hadn't heard the quaver of hesitance, of uncertainty in her voice.

Of course he had.

“Because both you and I know it is certainly untrue, Samarra,” he crooned. “Just because you shut your eyes does not mean you are blind. You are a marvel,” he breathed into her ear, and she trembled, “and I _will not_ share.”

His words roused something dark in her, and she knew she needed to do something, to keep it away. “Share? Share? Back the fuck up. I’m not property, that you can own, to share. If I want to sleep with someone else, I will. If I want to sleep with all the fucking Wardens at the same fucking time, _I fucking will_. I make the decisions over what I should do, not you.”

His hand shot out and gripped the back of her neck painfully hard. She growled at him, but in truth she was slightly fearful of the look in his eye. It was a dangerous look, something she would associate with someone she’d completely, thoroughly pissed off; he had a possessiveness that set off all her alarm bells, and every cell in her body screamed at her to _run, run away right now, the Dread Wolf has your scent._

“You think you know best, but you know nothing, little one,” he hissed. “You can play your games as much as you want as long as you do not overstep your boundaries. Say what you will, Samarra, but you are mine, and if I were you I would think twice before doing something foolish, _da'assan_.” She was trembling at the end of his speech, her eyes wide and frightened like a halla’s. He grinned wolfishly at the sight. “Perhaps I should mark you to stake my claim, hmmm?” he murmured, his eyes latched on the crook of her neck and shoulder.

His words spurred her to action, and she broke away from his grip, and fled the confines of the tent. She found herself wandering up the hillock in an effort to calm herself down. She’d always been scared of what Fen’harel could do to her - she really did not want to be killed - but now, it seemed as though death was the last thing she needed to worry about...

Although she did find herself wonder if bearing his mark would really be that bad… would it?

* * *

“Where in the Void is she?” an indignant voice rang out in the relative silence of the village. Samarra grinned as she recognized its owner. She quickly rolled out of her bedroll, pulled on a pair of breeches and rushed out of the tent she shared with Marian. “Hey, your Inquisitorialness, I’m right here,” she grinned, watching as Helena spun around, an answering smile on her face.

“Mara!” Helena exclaimed, and rushed over. “I’m glad to see you’re okay. Please tell me you managed to sort out our resident elven expert. I was so freaking worried he’d die on me. I told him you’d kick his ass if he did.”

The smile on her face slipped a little as she remembered her last interaction with Solas. “Yes, he was lucky I returned from Kirkwall in time,” she said. “Varric wanted to stay another day, but I had to pull him away by force.”

“Heard you got all you needed from that store. Leliana’s last missive asked me to inform you you’ve sent Josephine into conniptions with how much you spent there.”

“Well worth every penny, I assure you, and if I know our ambassador well, she’ll not only have replenished what I spent by the week, she’ll have tripled it in two weeks.”

“That’s Josephine all right,” Helena laughed, then grew more serious. “You’ve heard of our plans to take Caer Bronach, yes? Do you have anything more to add?”

“There are going to be quite a few archers. Take them out first, and the rest will be easier. Dorian’s really handy with that chain lightning spell of his - he casts it a couple of times, and the archers will be tumbling off the roof.”

“Great. Anything else?”

“Yeah; once you’ve taken it, if Cullen can secure the paths leading into and out of Crestwood - maybe work with a few nobles to set up regular patrols - you’ll be able to draw business to the Keep, not to mention the village. More travellers, more chances of news. Leliana will want to set up a base there - it’ll be a good haven for her scouts.”

“Didn’t think of that, but all very good points. I’ll send out a raven to our spymaster once we’ve taken the damn keep. Are there any in there worth saving?”

She mulled it over, and with a sigh, shook her head no. “They’re all a bunch of murderers and pillagers who’ve terrorized these villagers long enough. They have no remorse for their actions. There’s no point in giving them another chance, they won’t learn. That being said; if any of them do voluntarily surrender, I don’t see why you can’t take them into custody.”

“No visions regarding the bandits there, huh?” Helena teased.

She laughed. “Not a peep,” she said. “I don’t get answers to everything, you know.”

Helena’s face turned grim. “I assume you’ve heard about the business with the Wardens?”

Samarra drew her away to a quiet spot where they wouldn’t be overheard. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what caused Clarel to turn to a mad plan like that, but I suspect blood magic, like the kind we experienced in Redcliffe.”

Helena caught on. “So one of Corypheus’ minions is behind this?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you all the details once we’re back at Skyhold, but yes. A magister by the name Erimond. He’s teaching the Warden mages a ritual that will summon demons. The Wardens bind the demons to themselves. Corypheus has control over the Wardens, if you remember what the Hawkes said. Add that together, and you get…”

“A demon army,” Helena gasped in horror. “Please tell me all hope is not lost.”

“No,” Samarra reassured her. “I would not tell you this if there was not a glimmer of light. Some of the Wardens will side with you, they don’t like the blood magic either. The mages, unfortunately, are a lost cause. You must kill all the Warden mages.”

Helena pressed her hands to her temples. “Later,” she declared. “I can’t focus on this when we have Caer Bronach and that damned rift to take care of. Maker willing I’ll have closed the rift by the day after. What are your plans?”

“I will stay in the village till you close the rift. I’ve been helping the Inquisition rebuild some of the village, as you can see. I can’t use any of my magic to clean the buildings till the sun comes out - which it will, when you close the rift,” she smiled.

“I guess that means you won’t be coming with me to close the rift?”

“Nope,” she grinned. “The bloody things underground. I… don’t do well in dark, wet, creepy places.”

“Oh, Maker’s balls,” Helena groaned. “Sera’s going to absolutely bitch about it. She still hasn’t forgiven me for the Mire.”

“Yeah, she hasn’t forgiven me for that, either,” Samarra admitted. “I found beetles under my sheets the other day. I know she’s scared of them, so where the heck did she get them?”

“That’s Sera for you,” Helena chuckled. “Should I be on the lookout for insects in my bedroll?”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Samarra grinned. “I think she’d rather focus on Vivienne, though.”

Helena gave a long-suffering groan, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Why did we recruit the two of them again?”

“Because we need their help to save the world?”

“Oh, right. Maferath’s wrinkly ballsack, they should give me a medallion for tolerating the two of them without punching either of them in the face,” Helena muttered.

“Would you settle for a sympathetic hug instead?” she chuckled.

“I guess I can force myself to settle for that,” Helena smirked, and Samarra punched her lightly on the arm. 

“You ass!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's Solas playing at? Someone's entering dangerous territory... 
> 
> Helena's so snarky sometimes, I love it! :D


	71. Being Kind And Gentle Costs Little But Does Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caer Bronach is captured by the Inquisition. Samarra deals with the aftermath.
> 
> **_Warning: Implied sexual assault and physical violence_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Elven translations are linked as hovertext, and are also in the notes below!
> 
> * * *

From what she heard later, the capture of Caer Bronach had gone off without a hitch. Thanks the her warning about the archers, the Inquisition was able to take down the ranged offense as they broke through the main gate. Dorian’s familiarity with lightning-based spells came in handy. Most of the bandits had been vicious and itching for a fight, but there were a few, younger lads, clearly terrified, who’d been kidnapped from the village and hard-pressed into working for the bandits that Helena had freed.

To Samarra’s dismay, it turned out that the bandits had also been slavers, and the Inquisition had come across a locked room full of scared, starving elves. The Inquisitor had been horrified, and had ordered that they be immediately protected by the Inquisition. The elves were sent to Crestwood village, so that Samarra could examine them and treat them if needed. More supplies were already on their way from Skyhold for the newly-freed elves, but no one knew what to do with them.

There were about a dozen of them, all thin and skeletal, trembling with fear at being surrounded by so many humans. Many bore marks of violence - this made Samarra's blood boil. She could never bear callous cruelty. Unfortunately, they didn’t have enough housing for all of them, so she did what she could, and requisitioned two of the newly-constructed huts for the elves, dividing them into men and women. She wasn’t happy about doing so, especially since it was clear several of the elves were couples, but it seemed the best option at the moment.

She sighed, debating over what to do next. Finally, she sought out Solas. Despite his ‘lack of connection’ with the modern elves, he was still the only one who they would remotely trust. Solas was positively smug, as though he knew she wouldn’t be able to stay away from him, She seethed internally, but remained calm on the outside. Her priority was helping the elves, not her ego. And because she suspected she'd need his help, she also took Anders with her.

She entered the male’s hut first, flanked by Solas and Anders. “Hello,” she said quietly. “I’m Samarra. I’m with the Inquisition, I’m the chief surgeon. We’re here to help you, if you will let us. I’d very much appreciate it if you would let me examine you, and heal you.”

They all stared back at her, scowls on their faces, fear in their eyes. “Why should we trust you?” one of them spoke up fiercely. “What makes you different from those _shems_?”

She found herself flinching at the derogatory term. “We’re not like them,” she insisted firmly, but calmly. “You are free to leave any time you like; we will not detain you, we will not hold you against your will. We truly _do_ want to help you. If you will let me, I and my companions here will heal you, after which you are welcome to join us for a meal. Please, I mean no harm, and neither do any of my friends.”

A young, thin lad, stepped out of the crowd. He was barely out of his teens, and he swayed slightly as he walked towards her. She bit her lip to keep herself from crying as she spotted the numerous gashes and bruises on his body. He stumbled, and she immediately stepped towards him, her healer’s instincts taking over.

“Solas!” she barked out. “Help me out here. Anders, if you would please get some clear broth. I need to get something in his stomach, immediately.” Solas was already gently pulling off the young lad’s tunic, and he growled beneath his breath as he observed the extent of the lad’s injuries. The other elves clustered around, curious to see what was going to happen, but also keeping a wary eye on them.

“I can see several minor wounds and a few deeper ones that look infected,” she said, trying to remain calm. “Multiple contusions are present. Can you detect any broken bones?”

“Two of his ribs are broken,” Solas said evenly. “They have not yet healed properly.”

“Garrett!” she roared, causing the elves to flinch, but this was no time to be gentle and delicate.

Garrett came running into the hut. “What’s wrong?”

“Get me the potions crate, will you? I’m going to need whatever remains. If anyone argues with you, tell them to fuck right off, okay?”

He grinned slightly and nodded. The mage disappeared, appearing moments later with the crate. “Here you go,” he said. “No one argued with me, so there’s that.”

She uncorked a pain relief elixir and pressed it against the boy’s lips. “ _Da’len_ ”, she spoke gently, “this will relieve the pain while Solas and I heal your wounds.” He nodded in understanding, and drank it down slowly. Solas was already halfway through healing the wounds, leaving the infected ones for her to deal with. Already the lad was looking much better. She took out the bleach solution and a clean cloth, and explained what she was doing aloud to her audience. “This is a diluted bleach solution. It will clean the deeper wounds he has, and allow me to draw the infection out without worrying about it returning.” She cleaned the deeper wounds, then placed her hands over them to draw the infection out, incinerating it with a quick flash of heat once it was out of the wound.

Several minutes later, the young lad - whose name was Alhan, she learned - was as good as new. Anders came in with a bowl of steaming hot broth, and presented it carefully to the boy, who fell upon it gratefully. “Broth for now, Alhan,” she said with a smile, “till your stomach is used to it. I daresay we can have you on solid food from tomorrow, if your stomach can tolerate the broth.” He nodded, slurping down the liquid in great gulps. She laughed, and bid Anders to get some bread too, which the mage was only too happy to do.

After that little display, there was less resistance from the men. She examined every one of them carefully and mindfully, talking quietly and softly to them, asking them about themselves, and what they did, answering any questions they had.  By the time she had finished with the last one, they were all far more relaxed, and had settled down with the food that had been brought in for them. Samarra reminded them that they didn’t have to stay in the hut, they could walk out and walk around and talk to people if they so chose to. “And if anyone gives you a hard time, you come straight to me, okay? I’ll not tolerate any kind of discrimination, and neither does the Inquisition.”

She left the hut, exhausted. Healing them had sapped quite a bit of her mana, but the women still remained. Truth be told, she was terrified of treating the women. She feared, very much so, that some of them had been sexually abused, judging by the way they cowered around the men. Samarra wished, for the thousandth time, that the men who did that to them were still alive so she could slowly and painfully kill them.

Rapists were absolute scum.

She exhaled heavily, and shared a small, knowing, unhappy smile with Anders. She knew the mage had seen more than his share of injustices and cruelty. He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and she was grateful for the contact. She asked him to wait outside the women’s hut while she entered with Solas. Even at the sight of a strange male elf, several women flinched. A rush of sympathy flowed through her. “Hello,” she introduced herself, her tone softer, quieter than it had been with the men. “I’m Samarra. I’m the chief surgeon with the Inquisition, and I am here to help you.”

“You’ll hurt us!” one particularly angry-looking woman hissed at her.

“Our intention is not to hurt you. We are here to help,” Solas soothed. “We do not wish to keep you here against your will. The Inquisition brought you here so that the healers here could treat your wounds. You can leave at any time you choose to.”

“You swear?” another woman hesitantly asked. “We can leave? Freely?”

“Yes,” Samarra promised. “I would very much appreciate it if you let me treat you. But if you do not feel comfortable with that, you can leave, and no one will stop you. I hope you’ll give me a chance to heal you first, though.”

“Why do you care?” a third asked curiously.

She sighed. “I understand that you are wary of me - and all the humans here - because of what those men did to you,” she said quietly. “But I promise, I swear on everything I am, that none of us here are like that. We are only here to help. We’re not monsters. If you aren’t happy with me, at least let Solas here help you.”

The women stared at her for several moments, judging her words. Finally, one of them spoke up. “The bandit leader… he… he was… rough with Genura. She… she won’t talk, but she needs help.” Murmurs of agreement rippled across the room.

“Of course,” she said calmly. “I’m going to ask someone to bring in a cot, and some of my healing supplies. Would you rather Solas stayed, or left?”

The women exchanged glances. “He can stay,” they agreed.

She made requests for whatever cots could be spared, asking them to bring hers if they didn’t have enough, and asked Anders for her supplies and some water. Several female scouts brought in three cots, and Anders brought in the supplies that she’d asked for, along with some blankets. He quietly left, knowing his presence only alarmed the elven women.

“Genura?” she called out softly. A frail, petite young woman stepped out. She had long, platinum hair and sky blue eyes, and was so very pretty. Samarra’s heart lurched at the thought of the horrors this innocent young woman had been subjected to. “Come, _da’lan_ ,” she said gently, holding out her hand. Genura clasped her hand tightly, and she lead the young elf to the cot. Samarra held out a blanket in front of the young girl. “Genura, I need you to take off your breeches, okay? You can keep your tunic on. I’ll cover you with this blanket when you’re done.”

She noticed that the young woman was still uncomfortable. “Is there someone you’d like to stand by you?” she asked gently. Genura nodded, and pointed at the elven woman who had first mentioned Genura.

“I am Manena,” the strawberry blond woman introduced herself. “Genura is my sister.”

“Manena,” she smiled, “I think your sister would like your support.”

Manena made her way over to Genura, murmuring soothingly into her ear as the latter undressed. Genura laid on the cot, gripping Manera’s hand firmly. Samarra covered the young woman’s waist with the blanket, as they did in gynecologist’s offices back on earth. She was no gynecologist, but she had some understanding of the basics. She noted, with dismay, that she had no lubricant.

“Solas,” she called out quietly, giving Genura a reassuring smile. He kept a careful distance from the young girl. “Solas,” she whispered into his ear, “I don’t have anything to… lubricate my fingers with, for the examination.”

He quietly slipped out of the hut, and returned back with some oil. “I have heated this with some elfroot,” he whispered into her ear. “It will do the job.” She nodded, giving him a grateful smile. She washed her hands with soap and dried them, and lubricated two of her fingers with oil, all the time talking to Genura about what she was doing. She knew it was important for them to know what was happening, so that they stopped fearing her.

“Genura,” she said quietly, “I’m going to examine your passage. It might feel a little awkward. If there’s any pain at all, tell me at once, okay? I’m going to insert a finger, and if I find anything strange, I will heal it. It shouldn’t take long. Are you okay with it?”

“You’re asking her permission?” Manena asked her incredulously.

“It’s her body,” Samarra replied with a small smile.

“But others would not give her the choice,” Manena murmured.

“More fools them, then,” she said, smiling gently at Genura. Genura hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

Samarra slipped a finger into the young woman’s vaginal canal, furious to discover several abrasions and cuts inside. She healed them gently, letting her magic spread outwards and heal the bruised and damaged tissue. She pulled out, immediately washing her hands again. “How do you feel now?” she asked the young woman.

“Better,” Genura whispered. Samarra beamed. “Great! Now, you can put your breeches back on before I take a look at the rest of you, or I can examine you fully, then you can get dressed. Or would you prefer Solas to examine you…?”

“You can do it,” Genura whispered shyly.

She examined the young woman methodically, healing the bruises and the wounds she’d received. Most of her injuries seemed to be from restraints… Samarra deliberately forced herself to think of something else. The entire time, she prattled away about Skyhold, telling them stories about her friends, her fellow healers, something to keep the strained silence at bay. It worked; the women relaxed; she wasn’t sure if they were listening to what she was saying, but at least they had a little bit of trust in her.

When Genura was done, she asked Anders to get some stew for the women. Again, he obeyed without question, trusting her judgement. She appreciated it; in the few days they’d spent together they’d reached a mutual understanding and respect.  Anders was very knowledgeable, in the more common illnesses of Thedas, and he’d helped her with the common names of the ailments found in this world. Most of them used simplistic language, given that Thedas had only a rudimentary grasp of anatomy and physiology. Although judging by how Solas was unfazed with the terminology she used, she suspected the ancient elves had known more.

After she’d finished treating the women, she left them with warm bowls of stew and bread, extending to them the same offer she’d made the men. The elven women seemed even less interested than the men in mingling with her. She promised them she’d come to check in on them several times a day, and if they needed anything, there would be a female scout stationed outside their hut, and to ask her for whatever they needed.

As she made to leave, Genura burst into tears. She rushed over to the young woman, wrapping her arms around her. “Shhh, it’s alright, it’s okay, you’re going to be fine.” she soothed. “Whatever happened wasn’t your fault, _da’lan_ , you do not have to be ashamed. You did nothing wrong. You are brave, and strong, and fierce. Do not give that beast a second thought. You are worth far more than he will ever be,” Samarra encouraged, rubbing the young woman’s back comfortingly. She knew the others were listening to her words as well, and it seemed of vital importance that she let them know that nothing that happened was their fault.

Finally, mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted, she made her way over to where her friends were. They were sitting around a campfire that had been built under a makeshift wooden shelter, and they all seemed grim faced. “What’s wrong?” she asked, as she sat down heavily next to Alistair. She nearly fell off the log doing so, and he immediately gripped her forearm to steady her.”

“Those elves,” Marian murmured. “What will become of them?”

Solas shrugged, his mouth a hard line. “They are runaways from the alienages. Either they will make their way back, or they will try to join a Dalish clan. Either way, they will not stay.”

She stared into the flames. Regardless of what the elves chose, there was always a danger that they would fall prey to slavers again, especially in these turbulent times. There had to be another, safer way. “What if… what if they joined the Inquisition?” she thought out aloud.

“Where they would work as servants?” Solas scoffed. “I think not.”

“Technically, I’m a servant of the Inquisition myself, Solas,” Samarra reminded him. “I work for a salary. I have duties and responsibilities. I do my job, and I do it well. There is no shame in that.”

“You are nothing like them, and you know it,” he retorted angrily. “You are in a position far better than they will be.”

“They will be safe, and well-treated,” she countered softly. “They will have a chance to earn a fair wage. Whatever the Inquisition is, Helena prides herself on keeping it equal for all races. It is better than them wandering around, vulnerable to slavers.”

“We shall wait and see,” he replied, and fell into silence.

“How are they doing?” Alistair asked her.

“Shaken up, traumatised, but slowly recovering,” Samarra replied. “Or at least, I hope they’re slowly recovering. I don’t think the women will venture out. The men might.” She took the bowl of stew Marian offered her gratefully, and dug in, grinning as Alistair slipped her a hunk of cheese. “You remembered!” she chuckled.

“I never forget a fellow cheese-lover,” he declared solemnly, his eyes twinkling.

“That’s sweet of you,” she said, impulsively leaning over and planting a loud kiss on his cheek. They all had a good laugh as he turned beet red, laughing harder as he tried to bluster his way out. Marian added to his torment by kissing him on his other cheek, which made him turn even more red, if that were possible, but he sat there, grinning like a complete idiot.

She blatantly ignored Solas. She still hadn’t forgiven him for his words the other day.

After dinner, when everyone was settling down to sleep, he approached her. “A word?” he murmured, walking away, giving her no chance to reply.

She debated over whether or not to follow. She wasn’t sure what he wanted to talk about. _Maybe the elves? Perhaps he was concerned about them and wasn’t comfortable voicing his concerns in front of everyone._ She followed behind, but not too close, not wanting to give anyone the wrong impression. He began walking up the gentle slope, till he reached an alcove between the rocks that hid them completely out of view of the village below.

“What are you playing at?” he yanked her into the shadows, her back hitting the rock wall.

“What?” she asked, confused.

“You kissed him!” he hissed.

She rolled her eyes. “So did Marian, if you noticed.”

“I am not concerned about _Marian_ . My focus is on _you_.”

“I thought we established that you have _no say_ over what I _choose_ to do?” she growled.

He cupped her face between his palms. “Do you honestly believe that?” he smirked, his lips twisted into a half smile, a strange kind of softness in his eyes.

“Yeah, pretty much,” she stated, pulling his hands away. He growled, and forced her hands behind her back, where they were trapped between her body and the rock.

“You still insist on deluding yourself,” he said, somewhat amused.

“Everyone has a right to do what they want with their bodies,” she said, watching with alarm as he slid his hands beneath her tunic. “Solas, what are you doing?” she asked, even as her body leaned into his touch.

“So kind,” he murmured, nuzzling against the side of her face. “So caring. Why are you so considerate, _da’assan_?” His voice was silken thread, wrapping itself around her body in its gentleness. His hands trailed up the length of her, cupping her breasts, tugging down her breastband to free them.

“Solas, you can’t. There are people around...” she half-moaned, as she tried to free her hands, more to grip him than anything else. He nipped lightly at her ear, forcing her to bite back a whimper.

“I can,” he persuaded. “We can.” He rolled a nipple between those long, slender fingers of his, and she swallowed the involuntary sigh of pleasure that threatened to escape. “How quiet can you be, [_fenor_?]()” he breathed into her ear, and she shivered as the elven endearment slipped from his lips.

“Solas,” she began, intending to tell him _no, stop, someone could see us,_ but he leaned down and kissed her. This was gentle and soft, so unlike the rough, possessive one of before. She found herself melting into it, hardly registering as his fingers undid the ties on her breeches. “[ _Dirthas vin, ma fenor_](),” he murmured against her lips, his mouth nibbling up the slope of her jaw till he found the spot behind her ear that made her moan. It was only he who could manage to undo her with so little effort...

“[ _Vin_](),” she could only barely whisper. “Solas…” It was a plea.

He slid those slender, elegant fingers into her breeches, tearing off her smalls in a quick, desperate move, searching for the core of her. He cupped her sex with a groan. “[ _Ane irmes_](),” he breathed. [“ _Ane leanash.”_]()

She could only moan in reply as his fingers circled her clit with clever, quick strokes. He was building her up, up, up, and she had to bite down on her lip to stop the sounds that wanted to pour from her lips. He laughed softly, quietly into her ear, recognizing her conundrum.

[“ _Juveran na su tarasyl,_ ”]() he promised her thickly as she ground her hips against his palm when his fingers dipped into her, searching for the friction that would bring her that cotton-candy sweetness.

So close. She was so close she could taste it. Just a little more, just a little bit more and she’d… [“ _Sathan,”_]() she pleaded, lost in a mindless haze of pleasure. [_“Sathan,_]() Solas.”

He growled possessively, and pulled his hands away. She whined softly at the loss of contact, but the next moment he had pulled her breeches down, and had freed himself from the confines of his own. He lifted her legs, pulling them around to wrap around his waist, - which she was only too ready to do - and covered her mouth with his as he sheathed himself in her, swallowing the desperate cry she gave.

“[ _"Nuvenan rosa’da’din in ma sule enan’ma”_]() he growled against her lips, and she whimpered. [“ _Nuvenan dialan’na em’odhe,”_](). He began to move within her, slow, deep, claiming strokes that she could feel every inch of. She gripped his shoulders tightly for support, throwing her head back and panting into the silence of the night sky. He shifted his hips slightly, the new angle allowing him to go deeper, each thrust pressing against the sensitive bundle of nerves hidden deep within her. She moaned throatily, unable to do anything in this position but take the pleasure he forced on her. Her first orgasm was long and lazy, a smear of sunshine against a bright white wall. He timed his strokes to the pulses of her walls, drawing out the pleasure, and when she had come down from it, resumed his brutal, claiming pace.

She had to set her teeth against his shoulder to muffle her cries. He sped up his thrusts, growls continually falling from his lips. He clamped his jaw on her neck, hard, as he came, the pain of it a counterfoil to the pleasure, causing her to tumble headfirst into a second orgasm.

For a minute, she swore she was in the sky.

The pleasure waned, and reality crept in. She stared at him, even as he was still sheathed in her, doubt and misgivings creeping in. He pulled out of her slowly, and set her on her feet, handling her gently as though she were made of the thinnest glass.

She could feel his seed trickling down her thighs. Could smell him in the air. Could smell him on her.

Could feel the large chink in her armor he’d made, the one she'd set up firmly in place around her heart to protect herself from him.

“What,” she asked hoarsely, licking her lips, “what was that about?”

His hand on her cheek was gentle, his expression inscrutable. She couldn’t understand what lurked in the depths of his eyes, only that looking into them made her feel... something she had no business feeling.

[_"Ane tundra,”_]()he said quietly as he stroked her skin lightly with his thumb. He trailed his fingers over her neck, healing the bruise she knew was present there and then leaned in to brush his lips softly against hers. He gave her one last, indecipherable look and walked away, his shoulders drooping so slightly she’d have missed it if she didn’t know him so well.

She stared after him, angry at her lack of self control when it came to him, worried about his sudden change in demeanor, and helpless… as though she were caught in the grip of the storm that was him and could do nothing but go where the waves took her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> _da'len_ \- child
> 
> _fenor_ \- precious
> 
> _Dirthas vin, ma fenor_ -say yes, my precious
> 
> _vin_ \- yes
> 
> _ane irmes_ \- you are soaked
> 
> _ane leanash_ \- you are glorious
> 
> _sathan_ \- please
> 
> _juveran na su tarasyl_ \- I will take you to the sky
> 
> _nuvenan rosa’da’din in ma sule enan’ma_ \- I want to come inside of you till I spill out of you
> 
> _nuvenan dialan’na em’odhe_ \- I want to cover you in my scent
> 
> _ane tundra_ \- you are kind
> 
> * * *
> 
> So when you capture Caer Bronach, one of the things Charter mentions is that the keep is on a trade route, and I thought well... sure the bandits want it to keep themselves safe from demons, but like, none of the rifts that you have to close are close to the keep [from what I remember]. So I figured there must have been another reason they were interested in it?
> 
> And oh, what's this? Is something happening to wolfy? :O


	72. Tread Carefully, And Be Wary Of The Plans You Make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are plans to be made, and futures to be altered.
> 
>   _Warning for mild dubious content._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to each and every one of you who left such warm and wonderfully encouraging comments in my last chapter. Though I had to delete it for continuity purposes, rest assured that I read each and every one of them, and that every one of you gave me the strength needed to keep pressing forward and continue posting. It's easy to get bogged down in the negativity, but to have such overwheming positivity from so many of you, it was deeply moving, and I do not have enough words to thank you for that.
> 
> That being said, I'm going to take this opportunity to remind readers to read the tags before deciding whether to read this story or not. This story isn't necessarily everyone's cup of tea, and I'm okay with that, but please, don't leave a comment about character behavior that you don't agree with when the tags could have told you what to expect :/ 
> 
> As always, you can catch me on [tumblr!](http://roguelioness.tumblr.com/)

**POV Samarra**

Everyone in the village knew instantly the moment the rift was closed. There was a small vibration in the ground, but more importantly, the grey skies cleared up, allowing bright, cheery, yellow rays of sun to peek through. There was a rejoicing in the village, people celebrating the fact that they would have to suffer no more. Even the newly-free elves came out to celebrate, the hope in the atmosphere too much to resist.  The elves had been treated with utmost cordiality by everyone, not just the Inquisition members but the villagers too. They weren’t treated like second-class citizens, they were welcomed wherever they went, and slowly, in a day or two, their guard lowered, and the elves began to relax around their human hosts.

No one pressured them about what their plans were. Several of the elves, unsurprisingly, were skilled in one way or another. Genura had taken a shine to her, and followed Samarra around like a little lost puppy, much to the amusement of everyone in the village. Samarra didn’t mind, knowing that the young woman had been through a harrowing ordeal and likely thought of her as safe.

She kept her distance from Solas, and he did the same. Something had happened that night when he took her against the rocks, something she didn’t understand. It seemed as though whatever it was had made him uncomfortable. Despite the aggressive, possessive behaviour that disconcerted her, she still missed their discussions and conversations, and quietly rued the fact in private.

But it seemed as though Alistair had taken a shine to her. Whether it had something to do with the fact that he found her familiar on account of their… strange connection?… was hard to say, but he seemed to find one reason or another to draw her into conversation. She didn’t mind, since he was incredibly easy and fun to talk to, but she was still wary, not sure if she should do anything more. It wouldn’t be fair to him if she lead him on because he looked so much like James.

Helena and her companions returned mid-afternoon the next day, sore but victorious. They’d stopped by Caer Bronach first to clean up, not wanting to burden the villagers. Dorian and Cole were happy to see her, with the Tevinter teasing her relentlessly about her new-found closeness with Alistair. Cole just seemed happy to be around her again, which touched her no end, and, of course, that had meant hugging the spirit lad.

Vivienne was distantly aloof, turning her nose up at the sights and smells of the recovering village, and had coolly kept to herself in the tent that had been pitched for her (and her alone - the First Enchanter refused to share a tent, even when Helena, as Inquisitor, was fine with sharing). Sera just glared at her, and Samarra made a mental note to keep a closer eye on her belongings. Bull was more suspicious than usual, trying to poke and prod her into admitting something, but she just smiled at him and stuck to her usual lines. Cassandra seemed happy with the work she’d accomplished in trying to restore the village.

The freed elves observed their rag-tag group, and something about how… random… they were seemed to cement a decision in their heads. They all asked to join the Inquisition, and Helena was nothing but gracious in welcoming them. Dorian seemed uncomfortable, but later that evening she had a quiet conversation with him, detailing the extent of their injuries, and he’d been horrified. Yet another stone in converting him to the good side.

They made plans to leave the next day for Skyhold; the elves would accompany the scouts and the soldiers, for their protection. They seemed to find the suggestion acceptable, likely because Helena had taken pains to explain to them at great length why she had made the suggestion in the first place. It seemed so funny to Samarra that the people she considered friends were only just discovering that if you were straightforward with people, they tended to trust you.

The last dinner in Crestwood was a celebration, the villagers and the people of the Inquisition celebrating the Inquisitor’s successes. To Samarra’s embarrassment, she was toasted several times, people lauding her for her work and effort in setting the village back on its feet. She demurred, instead directing it towards the scouts and the soldiers, who all beamed under her - and Helena’s - praise.

She was seated between Dorian and Alistair, engaged in a random conversation about pets. Dorian was lamenting about not having a fennec fox as a pet while growing up, while Alistair stated he would have been happy with _any_ kind of pet. They asked her her preference, and she’d laughingly informed them she was happy to have either a fox, a mabari, or even a wolf as a pet, but there was _no way_ she would consider having a pet nug, a sentiment that was shared by Dorian, who vehemently agreed.

She felt as though she were being watched, and she raised her head to find Solas staring speculatively at her across the fire. She tore her eyes away from his gaze, unable to withstand the intensity of it. There was something in his eyes that she didn’t want to explore. She returned to her conversation with the two men at her sides, changing the subject to the best cheese and wine pairings, an apparently controversial topic judging by how much Alistair and Dorian argued.

* * *

 

**POV Helena**

She watched the redhead laugh and joke with the people around her, and for a moment Helena was envious. Samarra did things with an ease that seemed effortless. She caught Solas staring at the redhead; he tried to be surreptitious about it, but she’d seen him staring at Samarra on more than one occasion. Their relationship baffled her; they were both intelligent and well-read, and enjoyed having in-depth discussions over a variety of topics. They both found a happiness in the magic that they bore within them, wielding its power with a casualness, as though it were simply an extension of them. They were drawn to each other - a fact that was noticed by the people around them, even if they shied away from the fact themselves.

And yet, Samarra seemed… wary… around Solas. Helena couldn’t quite place a finger on it, and she certainly had no proof, but at times she had the feeling that the redheaded healer was…   _frightened?..._ of Solas. No, not frightened, she corrected herself. It was more an apprehension of sorts, a subtle wariness that Helena sometimes thought she might have imagined Which certainly concerned her. Solas was one of her trusted companions, having lead them to Skyhold, his counsel was always wise and on point, but if Samarra was apprehensive of him, there was something to worry about.

But they did get along really well, more often than not huddled together discussing whatever it was they spoke about. It was usually Samarra who made him smile, and Solas was the only one who could elicit that chortling laugh from the red headed healer with the dry wit that Helena herself appreciated. _They do make a cute couple_ , she thought to herself.

Shaking herself out of it, her eyes drifted to Cullen, smiling unconsciously as she did so. He caught her glance, and returned it with a warm one of his own. Their relationship was still new, and a little strange, but she loved looking at the handsome Commander as much as she loved being in his arms.

They hadn’t told anyone about the two of them yet, but sometimes she wondered if Samarra knew, given the knowing grins she directed at her whenever Cullen was around.

She cleared her throat. “Let’s bring this meeting to order, shall we?” she spoke briskly, and the Inner Circle companions, her advisors, the Wardens and the Hawkes settled down.

“From what we know, the Orlesian Grey Wardens are being manipulated by Corypheus into performing a blood magic. Another Tevinter magistrate is involved in this ritual. The Warden mages are performing the blood ritual to summon demons, which they then bind to themselves. Corypheus, with his control of the Blight, uses the Taint present in the Wardens to control the Wardens, and thus the demons. And so he gets his demon army.”

Iron Bull rumbled, “What’s got the Wardens so shaken up they’re turning to Tevinter for help?”

Stroud spoke up, giving a brief explanation of the Calling. “So the Wardens are desperate. Clarel is desperate. If the Wardens all fall, then there will be no one left to protect Thedas against the Blight.”

She noticed Solas twist his mouth in disgust, and wondered why. _Perhaps the subject of blood magic was a sore one for him, being an apostate._

“Regardless of their motivations and their desperation, we must work quickly to stop them. We know that they have stationed themselves in Adamant. Samarra mentions they haven’t yet completed the ritual, so we still have time. With the help of the Wardens, it is my hope that we may persuade some of the Warden warriors to fight alongside us, or at the very least, stand down. The Warden mages are a lost cause, and we must bring them all down.”

Vivienne muttered something about magic gone amok, but no one paid much heed to her words.

“I’ll let the Commander talk about the fortress and its defenses,” she said, nodding at Cullen.

“Adamant fortress has stood against the darkspawn since the time of the second Blight,” Cullen began. “Fortunately for us, that means it was built before the age of modern siege equipment. A good trebuchet will do major damage to those ancient walls. And thanks to our ambassador, we’ve been able to get hold of some sappers.”

“Lady Seryl of Jader was pleased to lend the Inquisition her sappers. The trebuchets are on their way to our base camp in the Western Approach.” Josephine interjected.

“That is the good news.” Cullen said with a sigh.

“You mean there’s bad news, other than the fact that we’re going to be fighting a demon army soon,” Varric pointed out sarcastically.

“We aren’t sure what kind of resistance we’re facing. The Inquisition forces can breach the gates, but if the Wardens already have their demons, we’re facing a hopeless battle.”

“Not quite, Commander,” Leliana spoke up. “I’ve found records of Adamant’s construction. There are choke points we can use to limit the field of battle.”

“That’s good,” Cullen murmured. “We may not be able to defeat them outright, but if we cut off reinforcements, we can carve the Inquisitor a path to Warden-Commander Clarel.”

“Taking this fortress is going to get a lot of good soldiers killed,” she worried.

Samarra spoke up calmly. “That’s where I come in, Inquisitor. I will be accompanying you with several of my most experienced healers. We’ve already made preparations - we are ready with potions and other supplies we may need. We’ll be present, on-site, to treat injuries. I cannot deny that good men will be lost, but I will do all I can to keep them to a minimum.”

“Thank you, Samarra,” she said gratefully. “Do you have anything else to add?”

“You’ll face heavy resistance,” Samarra noted unhappily. “The battlement walls will be guarded not only by possessed Wardens but also demons. The best way to take over the battlements is by deploying the mixed military units, Commander. The mages can protect the soldiers, and provide support against the Warden mages and the demons.”

“A good point. We have several of the MMU teams ready to go,” Cullen noted.

“I suggest that you pick a team to travel by your side, Inquisitor. The rest can help our soldiers fight.”

“We’ll discuss that later, Samarra, but your point has been noted.”

“Other than that,” the redhead shrugged. “It will be bloody. It will not be pleasant. You should be prepared for it.”

The seeress’ words seemed to sober everyone in the room, and the mood immediately became more tense.

“We ride out for Adamant the day after,” she noted grimly. “I suggest you get your rest while you can.” With that, she dismissed the others, leaving her alone with the advisors. Once they were alone, she turned to Samarra. “Just how bad is it going to be?” she asked.

“Pretty bad,” Samarra rarely sounded so grim. “But like I said, I’ve been working on it. I’m not going to let good men die, Helena. It’s the whole reason why I wanted Widris to join us. Anders is going to help out as well. Fiona has volunteered her services to fight the demons; I know the Commander has already conferred with her about tactics.”

“Her former Warden expertise was certainly informative,” he shrugged.

“Well then, who should I take with me?” she asked.

“The Hawkes and Wardens Alistair and Stroud will want to accompany you,” she said carefully. “Other than that, I would suggest taking Solas, and Dorian with you. I don’t recommend taking Sera, Cole or Iron Bull with you - at some point of time they might become a bit of a hindrance.”

“Noted. I’ll take Cassandra, Blackwall, Solas, Dorian and Varric with me,” she said decisively. “The others can fight along with our soldiers. I’m assigning Cole as your bodyguard, just in case.”

“Oh, one last thing,” Samarra said, chewing nervously on her lip. “At some point of time, I’m not sure when, Corypheus’ pet dragon makes a visit. Doesn’t stay for long, though, but, uhhh… you’ll want to keep an eye out for it.”

“Maferath’s fucking balls,” Helena hissed. “How are we going to battle that beast _and_ the demons?”

Samarra smiled wanly. “It’ll work out.” The redhead reached out and brushed the golden star brooch she’d gifted to Helena all those months ago. “You’ll be safe,” she said, but it sounded more like a plea than a statement.

Touched, she gripped the seeress’ hand tightly. “I will,” she promised. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for quite some time.”

Samarra laughed, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You better,” she smiled. “Who else am I going to tease Cullen with?” the redhead whispered into her ear, causing her to blush. “I will find a way to keep you safe, Helena,” Samarra said quietly. “Always.”

“I know,” she whispered, and pulled the woman she considered more of a sister than her own blood into a fierce hug.

* * *

 

**POV Solas**

Solas knew she would come to him. It was inevitable. No matter how much she struggled to distance herself from him, she was inexorably drawn to him, just as he was to her.

He watched her stand at his doorway, her fingers twisting nervously. Whatever it was, it clearly rattled her. It rankled that she looked as though she would rather be anywhere else but there with him, and his irritation was echoed in his voice when he spoke. “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” she said, taking a deep breath and entering his room. When she shut the door behind her, he raised his brows in surprise. “A serious matter then, I take it?”

“Remember… remember that favor I asked you for, weeks ago?” she began hesitantly. He’d never seen her so flustered.

“Yes,” he said calmly. “A favor for a favor, as I recall.”

“Yeah, well…” she lifted anguished eyes to his, and he was startled. “When… when the Inquisitor goes to Adamant… at some point of time… she… she will enter the Fade. With her party…” she trailed off.

“And?” he prompted.

“There… there will be something blocking her exit. There is… there is a need… for a distraction… for everyone… everyone to make it out alive,” she spoke softly. “It is… it is only you… who can… who can provide that… that distraction,” she mumbled. “Please,” she said, “will you… I mean… you have to…”

He understood. He’d been slotting the pieces together for some time, ever since he’d observed her terrified expression when she met the Hawkes, and then the Wardens. At some point of time during Adamant, the Hawkes and the Wardens would fall, possibly as part of the attempt to provide the distraction she spoke of, and she did not want them to die.

Did not want _Alistair_ to die. His lip curled up in a sneer.

“How do you know I can help?” he asked, curious to know what her vision had showed her. Did she know who he was? Did she know what he was, what he was capable of? Was that why she asked him?

She flushed, and her eyes, when they met his, were troubled and uncertain. “My visions haven’t shown me much. Only that, when you accompany the Inquisitor, there is a chance that everyone makes it out alive.”

“Then why do you need a favor from me?” he asked, amused. “Surely if all that needs to occur is my accompanying the Inquisitor you have nothing to worry about.”

She shook her head. “I needed… needed to talk to you,” she stammered out. “It… it wouldn’t work otherwise.”

Interesting.

“Tell me more,” he ordered.

“Helena… will… will open a rift,” she began haltingly, “and she falls through. She’ll… search for another rift… to escape from. Something big… and malicious… is blocking the exit. Please, I cannot say any more. I cannot… if too much changes… it could affect so much more...”

He nodded. It sounded as though there was a particularly malevolent demon that would have to be defeated. It would take up a great deal of his energy, but it would not be impossible to accomplish. He would just have to make sure he stocked up on lyrium potions.

“Very well,” he nodded. “I will do this favor for you.”

She swallowed hard. “And what do you want from me?” she asked quietly.

He glanced at her. She stood stiffly, her eyes averted from his. He wanted all her secrets, but using the favor to ask her for them seemed… boring. He was enjoying the challenge of unraveling the complexities of the fiery redhead.

Which left him, of course, only one other option.

_Gonun esem’sa._

“At some point of time in the future,” he began, noting how she stiffened with amusement, “at a time of my choosing, when I take you to bed again, I would like to share an elven ritual with you,” he said calmly.

She narrowed her eyes. “What elven ritual is that?” she asked warily. He noted, with amusement, how she’d entirely skipped over the first part. It seemed as though she expected to share his bed on another occasion… and it boded well for him.

He shrugged casually. “It is an ancient custom, fashioned by the elven gods,” he said. “It involves placing a mark, of sorts, upon one who is… shall we say, chosen.”

“Mark me?” her eyes flew to his, stunned. “But.. but… but you… you can’t mean that!” she gasped.

“I do,” he said calmly. “That is what I ask for in return.” She had crossed him too many times, had insulted his pride on too many occasions. He had promised himself, had he not, that he would elicit a price from her? And so he would. He would ask for nothing else from her.

“But _why?_ ” she asked, bewildered.

“I believe the answer to that is obvious.”

She frowned, but there was a measure of confusion in her eyes. Did she truly not know why he wanted her, or was that yet another mask she wore? He did not know now, but he would… in time.

“What if I don’t sleep with you again?” she challenged.

“You will,” he stated so matter-of-factly she gaped at him. He gave her a wolfish grin. “ _Da’assan_ , do not fool yourself into believing you can resist what we have between us.” He rose from his chair, and walked towards her, noting amusedly how she shied away from him. _Like a frightened halla_ , he thought. She thought herself a wolf, but in truth she was but a halla.

He trapped her against his door with relative ease. “You want me to kiss you now,” he said softly, watching her pupils dilate at his proximity to her with satisfaction.

“No,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on his, the muscles in her neck tightening momentarily as she he tongue darted out to wet her lips.

“You do,” he countered, leaning in. He could see now, the place where he would mark her. Her pulse throbbed under her skin, at the base of her beautiful, slender neck. He would sink his teeth there, at the crook of her neck and shoulder, and she would cry out in rapture, and sob in bliss.

And she would be bound to him.

Oh, how he wanted that, wanted it with a desperation that astounded him. To see her walk amidst the _shems_ , his mark displayed for all the world to see. And when he recovered his orb, he would reveal to her the truth, give her the knowledge of what had been, and she would walk with him, and none other.

Some of what he was thinking must have shown on his face, because her face registered an alarm he was familiar with. He held her in place when she made to break away, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers. He did so love the taste of her, all ripe and juicy and succulent.

She was stiff at first, as she always was, but in a heartbeat had melted against him. He loved that moment when she surrendered, when she gave up her resistance and allowed him in, allowed him to overwhelm her. It felt like a victory of sorts each time. He nipped her lip playfully, reveling in the small whimper she made.

When he pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, her nostrils flared… and he could smell her arousal. With an effort, he pulled himself away, seeing her expression change to one of confusion. He grinned. He could afford to wait. He knew she had no other option but to agree to his terms. And he would keep her aroused and wanting, aching with need, until he finally took her to his bed again… where he **would** mark her for all the world to see.

That was inevitable.

“Do you agree to my terms?” he asked quietly.

“What if… what if I don’t?” she asked. “Will you really let them die?”

He shrugged. “You mentioned at some time, did you not, that some things in your visions are inevitable? Perhaps this will be one of those. I may not be able to save all of them, even if I travel with the Inquisitor. To cast within the Fade… it would require a great deal of will and control.”

“If you don’t try, there is a good chance you will fall, Solas,” she pleaded. “Surely, if only for that, you must try. There is no need to make these… outrageous demands.”

“By telling me what you have, the outcome of the future that was shown to you has already been altered,” he pointed out. “I will try to do all I can, _da’assan_. But if you want the best outcome, surely it is not outrageous to ask for an incentive to so strenuously over-exert myself.”

She gaped at him, eyes widened in disbelief at his stubbornness and refusal to withdraw his terms. He would try to help to the best of his abilities, but she did not need to know that. “You can’t be serious,” she pleaded. “Why do you want to do that to me? Would helping them not be its own reward?”

His control on his temper slipped a fraction. “You are asking me to risk my life to save the lives of your friends. Do you not think, by comparison, what I ask is reasonable? If you find the bargain disagreeable, you could always join the Inquisitor’s party and find a way out yourself.” he remarked icily.

She flinched, and hung her head. When she raised it again, her eyes were resigned and confused. She swallowed thickly. “Fine,” she replied softly, a quaver in her voice, “I agree to your terms. You can do this… ritual thing… if you save everyone. And only if you save everyone.”

He grinned. As long as he was well-prepared - which he now would be, thanks to her warning - defeating this demon she mentioned would be a matter of ease. Still, he needed to make sure she would keep her promise.

 _“[;Nuvenan dir’vhen’an, da’assan” ]()_ he said softly.

_“[;Ahn’juvenan’o’ma?” ]() _

_“[;Shivasas’ra na vindirthas juamas mar dir’vhen’an.”]()_

She hesitated, and he thought she might have changed her mind. It was only for a moment, however, and she spoke, her voice firm. “ _[Shivasan ar juaman ara’dir’vhen’an.”]()_

He raised his palm, waiting for her. She pressed hers against him, her hands smaller and more fragile compared to his. A swirl of light covered their hands, before splitting into two and entering into their chests.

“What just happened?” she asked, bewildered.

“You have made an unbreakable vow, as I have I. There is no changing minds now, _da’assan_. I will be compelled to follow through on my promise, even if I do not wish to. As will you.”

“How did you do that?” she demanded, her eyes lit up in curiosity and he smiled. _An insatiable thirst for knowledge_. And she would be his. There was no way out.  “Well, this is how it starts…”

* * *

 

**POV Samarra**

She walked into the secured room where Anders was being held, Widris, the twin Hawkes, Cullen and Solas close behind her. Though he had been treated fairly - she had ensured that, though others had argued against it - she knew he was angry at what he perceived as his captivity.

“So my jailors come to visit,” he mocked. “What an honor!”

She sighed, and sat on the bed next to him, frowning as Cullen’s hand immediately went to his sword. She directed a chastising look at the Commander, but he only stared impassively back at her. Clearly, he wasn’t going to budge…. With a sigh, she turned her attention back to Anders.

It had taken a great deal of effort on her part to persuade Helena and the advisors that a public trial would only be detrimental. Anders, she argued, was a hugely talented healer, and he was needed in the weeks to come. It had become a mantra - _he is needed_ became her single line of defense against all their arguments.

It had taken even _more_ effort to persuade Sebastian not to pull his alliance out from the Inquisition. Marian had been troubled at her insistence on helping Anders, but she’d pleaded with the rogue that she wasn’t doing what she was for shits and giggles. Samarra had had to introduce Marian to Widris, and it was only after the female Hawke had spoken to both Cullen and Solas that she’d agreed to intervene with Sebastian on the Inquisition’s behalf.

The alliance had held, but only barely.

“Forgive me,” she apologized, trying to keep the atmosphere light. “I would have come to you sooner, but there were other matters to attend to.”

Anders scoffed. “And now that you’re here, what do you intend to do?”

“Talk,” she replied simply. She kept her gaze fixed on his as she continued speaking. “Your crimes, Anders, are very serious, as you well know.”

She could sense him trying to break his gaze free of hers, but for some reason, he wasn’t able to.

“You know your crimes better than I do, for I was not there when you committed the deed. You know it better than your friends do, for it has become a part of you, has it not? Do you not see it each time you close your eyes? Hear the explosion, the screams of pain, the cries of panic when all is silent around you? When you fled Kirkwall have you not spent each day with the scent of soot and ash and death filling your lungs?”

Tears fell from the broken mage’s eyes, but she kept talking, her tone quiet and measured.

“No, I cannot know your crime as well as you do, Anders. And so, I cannot judge you. None of us can properly judge you for them. There is, however, one who can.” She leaned in closer. “ _[Elgar’nan, ma anas delast."]() _ she spoke quietly, but loud enough for everyone in the room to hear her words. _[“Nean elgar’tunan samelava; ar nuvenan ma hima’sal elgar’tunan. Vis ma silan ame amelan, melahn’an ar lanastan ma.”]()_

Anders’ eyes flashed blue. “ _[Amelan,]()_ ” he sobbed.

 _[“Elgar’ma,”]() _ she soothed.

Anders slid from the bed to kneel on the floor, his hands tightly gripping her knees. “ _[Lanastas’em]() _ ,” he pleaded. “ _[Sathan, lanastas’em, ar daleman alin,"]()_

 _[“Vis ar ma lanastan, ma tel’venan atisha,”]() _ , she said softly as she stoked his hair. “ _[Ma nuven lanastas mar’len, elgar’ma, ma rya tunan mar’len vena atisha.”]()_

_[“Vis ar anas ra, nuvenas ma lanastas’em?” ]()_

_[“Vin, elgar’ma.” ]()_

Anders shuddered violently against her legs, and from the corner of her eyes she could see Garrett and Marian take a step towards him. The twins had tears running down their faces, Anders’ guilt and pain having touched them. She couldn’t see Solas, but she assumed he was translating everything to the others.

“I will stay,” Anders said through large sobs. “I conscript myself into your service until my life is forfeit, or until you choose to free me from my oath.”

“The Inquisition welcomes you, Anders,” she said with a smile.

He shook his head gravely. “I pledge myself to _you_ ,” he corrected. “I stand to serve your word.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “We are equals, you and I; I don’t want you to swear yourself to me. I don’t want to lead.”

“Then I shall follow you where you go,” he vowed. “Justice has seen how you help everyone; it is only right that we follow your path to atone for what we have done.”

She didn’t know what to do, or what to say; bewildered, she looked to Solas instinctively for guidance. Something shifted in his eyes, but what, she couldn’t say; but he gave her a tiny nod.

“I could always use a friend,” she smiled gently, tugging on his shoulders to get him to sit next to her. “How does that sound?”

He stared back at her through red-rimmed eyes. “I think,” he replied, the beginnings of a smile hiding around the corners of his lips, “that sounds wonderful.”

“Well then,” she made her voice cheerful. “Welcome to the medical team here in the Inquisition, Anders! I’m Chief of the Infirmary, and you’ll answer to me. I know you’ll be a great help.” she patted his back. “I’ve got a room all set up for you; take today to rest and explore, and we can get started tomorrow. What do you say?”

“That… that’s it?” he blinked in puzzlement. “No punishment?”

Cullen spoke up before she could, his tone cold. “Samarra has agreed to vouch for you, apostate. Your failings she will answer for. Keep that in mind should you want to commit another crime.”

Anders looked back at her, and she shrugged. What could she say? It was the only way the others would back off.

“Why would you do that?” he asked quietly.

She wrapped an arm around him. “We all make mistakes. And we all deserve second chances.”

She couldn’t bring herself to look at Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
>  _[Solas/Samarra]_  
>  Nuvenan dir’vhen’an, da’assan (i need an oath, little arrow) 
> 
> Ahn’juvenan’o’ma? (what do you want from me)
> 
> Shivasas’ra na vindirthas juamas mar dir’vhen’an. (swear that you agree to keep your promise)
> 
> Shivasan min, Solas. I’na? (I swear this, Solas. And you?)
> 
> Shivasan ar juaman ara’dir’vhen’an. (I swear that I will keep my promise)
> 
> * * *
> 
>  _[Samarra/Anders]_  
>  Elgar’nan, ma anas delast. Nean elgar’tunan samelava; ar nuvenan ma hima’sal elgar’tunan. Vis ma silan ame amelan, melahn’an ar lanastan ma. (spirit of vengeance, you have done wrong)You were spirit of justice once; i wish you to become justice once more. If you think I am the Keeper, then I grant you forgiveness.)
> 
> Amelan (Keeper)
> 
> Elgar'ma (my spirit)
> 
> Lanastas'em (forgive me)
> 
> Sathan, lanastas’em, ar daleman alin (forgive me, please, forgive me, I have killed innocents)
> 
> Vis ar ma lanastan, ma tel’venan atisha (If I forgive you, you will not find peace)
> 
> Ma nuven lanastas mar’len, elgar’ma, ma rya tunan mar’len vena atisha (you need to forgive yourself, my spirit, you must pass judgement on yourself to find peace)
> 
> Vis ar anas ra, nuvenas ma lanastas’em? (if i do so, will you forgive me?)
> 
> Vin, elgar'ma (yes, my spirit)
> 
> * * *
> 
> We're getting closer to Adamant! HAWKES OR ALISTAIR? :O


	73. A Foundry Forum with Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Thank you all for the warm welcome back! I feel so honored to have such wonderful readers :)
> 
> * * *
> 
> I was fortunate enough to have my wonderful SO commission a tarot card of Samarra as a gift to me, and [red jester](http://red-jester.tumblr.com/post/153874299337/commission-for-roguelioness-commission-price) did such a wonderful job! I'm so pleased, and I love it to bits.
> 
>   
>    
> 

**POV Samarra**

“Oh my god. Dag-bear. These are  _ amazing _ !” she squealed as she spotted the newly-crafted weapons the dwarf had laid out on the table. Swords and shields, daggers, staves and bows, all crafted from the finest metal, and embedded with runes of all kinds. Dagna had outdone herself. Where the game limited a single rune to each weapon, Dagna had found a way to include three.

Every non-mage weapon had a spirit rune, and a mix of frost, fire and lightning runes. The mage staves had a spirit rune too, in addition to a cleansing rune, and a corrupting rune. These weapons were  _ definitely _ far more powerful than the ones the Inquisition had been wielding - hell, even the ones in the game - and Samarra was reassured by the knowledge it would serve them well in the days to come.

“Okay, there’s one missing,” she said with a grin. “Where’s mine?”

“Over here,” the dwarf exclaimed cheerfully, and dragged her to a different corner. “I know you said you wanted a bow that could act as a staff as well, and it got me thinking. How could I design one? I took the liberty of borrowing your current bow, and taking it apart to study it. Harritt was helpful, too. He thought it was silly, but he had some great suggestions.

“So what did you come up with?” she asked, curious.

“This.” Dagna pulled off the sheet, unveiling a… bow. The kind of bow Dalish was always talking about.  The inspiration for it had clearly come from the schematics for the Perseverance bow she’d bought at the Black Emporium, but instead of the multitude of spikes jutting out from the center part, it was studded with runes, two on each side of the sight and aiming window. Embedded into the modified cams that had been placed at either end of the bow were round crystals, resembling the one that was atop her Fadewalker staff, and they glowed with a hazy golden light. It was made of a mix of metal and wood, and she could see Dagna’s Masterwork touches in there, along with Harritt’s impeccable craftsmanship. The bow-staff (or was it staff-bow? Baff? Stow?) was a beautiful, stunning piece of art in itself.

“Dagna,” she gasped. “Oh, my god. This is… this is  _ amazing _ .” She gingerly lifted it. “It’s so light! How did you get it so light?”

“Silverite,” the dwarf explained. “I used ironbark for the wood. Josephine managed to get some - don’t ask me how, I think she’s a magician - and I was  _ so worried _ because I’ve heard it’s only the Dalish who can work with ironbark, but then I studied it, and that’s when it struck me, it  _ looks _ like wood but you really can’t treat it like wood, you’ve got to treat it like a metal. Except you can’t set fire to it, or it’ll burn. Well, the first ones I studied did, the wood on this bow won’t burn, it’s covered in a flameproof resin. Did you know that the best resin comes from the blood teak? It’s super creepy to see the red liquid ooze out of the bark, I mean it looks just like blood, but it isn’t. Anyway, it’s the best thing to use to make stuff fireproof. Especially when you mix it with the tiniest bit of elfroot sap. It’s funny how elfroot is used for everything, isn’t it? I wonder why elfroot is called elfroot. Do the elves just call it ‘root’?”

“Dag-bear,” she interrupted, amused, “tell me more about this, will you?”

“Oh, right! So, it’s a mix of silverite and ironbark, and it’s got a cleansing rune, a corrupting rune and a spirit rune in there. I didn’t know if you had a preference, but I stuck in a lightning rune in there as well. Figured if you go up against anyone with armor, lightning will take down the metal armor better than frost or fire. The focus crystals on either side… this is going to sound  _ so strange _ but I have no idea where I got them from. I think… there was a boy… maybe? It’s all really fuzzy. But anyway, I was working on this, and going mad over what to use as a focus, because I’d already used up the ones the Grand Enchanter gave me for the other staffs, and then these turn up, and I look at them and I think, ‘oh they’re perfect,’ and what do you know, they fit in perfectly into these rivets. So I asked Harritt to nock a hole in the rivets, and the crystals slipped right in like they belonged there.”

“Everything is absolutely impeccable but this… this is a freaking masterpiece!”

Dagna flushed. “I’m real pleased with it, too. Harritt as well. He was real grouchy when I was working on it, claimed it couldn’t be done, but, well, here you go. The most unique weapon in all of Thedas, I reckon.”

“I’ll agree with that,” she nodded, her eyes greedily taking in the beautiful carvings on the bow. “You even decorated it, it’s so pretty!”

“It just… felt so plain sitting like that, the ironbark. I was staring at it one afternoon, and before you know it, I have a chisel in my hand and I’m going at it. It just… it just came to me.”

“It’s lovely Dag-bear, and I really, really, really, appreciate it. You’re the best!” she put the bow back down on the table and bent over to hug Dagna.

“Oooh! I have something else to show you!” the dwarf exclaimed excitedly.

“Something more?” she was amused. “Could it be… arrows, by any chance.”

“Well, something like that. Maybe. I think so?” Dagna brought over a new quiver full of arrows, all of them made of light, sturdy metal. There was also a shallow tray filled with what seemed to be incomplete arrows, just the nock and the fletching.

“What are these for? Are you going to teach me how to make my own arrows?” she teased.

Dagna shook her head. “I figured you’re a mage, right? And I’ve seen Lady Vivienne slice around with that spirit sword of hers. She only has the hilt, but she creates the sword with magic. So if she can create a sword with just the hilt, and magic…”

“I can try to create arrows with just the arrow base,” Samarra finished, understanding and excitement lighting up her eyes.

“Yes! I mean, it would be super effective on the field! You wouldn’t have to worry about arrows all the time. I mean you could, but you wouldn’t have to. You could carry  _ hundreds _ of these little base parts, and not worry about having to retrieve them, you know?”

“Dagna,” she said solemnly, “you are, without a doubt, the most talented genius I’ve ever known.”

Dagna blushed. “That’s sweet, coming from you,” she said. “When are the others coming in to collect theirs?”

“This afternoon. Helena’s called a casual meeting. You’ll be there, of course, as the genius behind these.”

“I get to meet everyone?” Dagna squeaked.

“Yep, and you’re going to tell everyone about their weapons,” she smiled.

“Ooh. This is exciting! And scary. What if no one likes them?” the dwarf’s face fell.

Samarra cast an eye around the beautifully wrought weapons. “Dag-bear, I don’t think you have to worry about that  _ one bit _ .”

* * *

**POV Dorian**

Another meeting? He scoffed. The Inquisitor was driving him crazy with the number of meetings she called. All he wanted to do was read a good book, sip on a fine vintage - he thought wistfully of the fine Antivan vintage he’d pilfered from the Ambassador’s personal store - and catch up with Felix. Maker knew he’d been on the road long enough, battling bandits and undead and demons. He deserved a break. But no, they had three days of respite before they left for the Western Approach and it seemed as though every one of those three days was filled with meetings.

What was left to discuss anyway? Helena had told them about the crazy Wardens and their blood magic fuelled demon-summoning. Samarra had told them it was going to be a tough fight. The least the Inquisitor could do was let her companions prepare as they wished. Instead, they had to go over battle plans over and over again, identifying ‘choke points’ as the Commander put it, come up with various scenarios, and the solution for said scenarios. It was, frankly, a bit too much.

Grumbling under his breath, he entered the undercroft. That was the other thing. Why was this meeting in the foundry, of all places? Couldn’t they have found a better place? One that was… cleaner, and smelt better? What was even the point?

Helena was standing next to the arcanist. Who was a dwarf. It was ridiculous. Everyone knew dwarves couldn’t perform magic, for the love of the Maker, yet here was one who claimed to have studied magic. If she wasn’t some kind of charlatan he’d shave off his mustache.

Well, maybe that was going a bit too far. No need to drag the mustache in. He’d just have to… settle for quietly eating some humble pie. And he hated eating humble pie.

“Glad you could join us, Dorian,” Helena said, a little sharply.

“You know me, Inquisitor,” he shrugged casually, “always fashionably late.”

“Now that Dorian’s here - at last - let’s get on with it. This shouldn’t take too long. The reason I called you all here is to let Dagna here unveil the results of the pet project she and Samarra have been working on. It’s for all our benefit, so I recommend  _ listening _ .” the Inquisitor glowered at him.

He rolled his eyes ever so slightly. Really, did that woman ever loosen up? Or was it only limited to the time she spent in private with the Commander? He smirked.

“I was fortunate enough to visit… a very interesting store,” Samarra had taken over, her smooth, mellifluous voice filling the chamber, “where Varric and I were able to procure some rare weapon schematics. Knowing what comes ahead, we wanted to make sure the Inquisition got its hands on them, so that we could hand them over to Dagna here. She’s been working on these non-stop for weeks now, and I think everyone’s going to be very pleased.”

The dwarf pulled the cloth off the table, unveiling an assortment of weapons. Even he found himself impressed. Everything was crafted impeccably and was beautifully made. His eyes were immediately drawn to a staff with snake-like tendrils winding around the focus crystal. The crystal glowed with a warm blue light, and he knew in that moment that staff was his.

Everyone moved in, reaching for what caught their eye. Dorian pushed his way through the crowd, grabbing the staff before anyone else could lay claim to it. It hummed happily as his hand wrapped around it, and he felt his magic slither down his arm and enter the focus crystal, harmonizing with it. He examined it closely. The blade was sharp and sturdy, the grip was perfect, neither too soft not too hard. Runes surrounded the crystal at the top, and he was amazed to find  _ three _ of them. Most staffs he’d seen, both here in the south and in Tevinter, usually had a single rune.

Maybe there was something to this arcanist, after all.

Speaking of the arcanist, she’d popped up beside him, smiling cheerfully. “Do you like your staff, Dorian?” she asked. “The wood’s yew, but it’s been protected by a resin. Harritt crafted the blade out of red steel, he said it would unbalance the staff if he used silverite.”

“He was right,” Dorian murmured. “It’s very balanced.”

“That’s good, right? Do you like it?”

He looked at her eager face, and he couldn’t find it in him to be pithy. “I do indeed, Dagna,” he said with a smile. “This is fine work.”

“Great! I mean, I was worried when Samarra came in, talking about outfitting everyone with new weapons and all, but she was so insistent, and said you’d need them, and so I had to do my best…” he tuned her out, instead wondering why Samarra had gone to such lengths to get them new weapons. What had been wrong with what they had?

Really, sometimes the woman worried him. She’d refused to tell him what she’d done for Felix, instead smiling and just saying that it was a good thing he was better, and to enjoy it. She held a secret that could change the world, and she… she just kept it to herself! What other fascinating bits of knowledge did she have? It was so unfair she refused to share what she knew.

Maybe that was being uncharitable. She was generous with most of her knowledge. Hadn’t she tried to teach him the light sculptures trick that Solas had taught her? It was just too bad he didn’t have the knack for them. And speaking of that mysterious elven apostate, where had  _ he _ learned to perform such magic? He kept talking about finding knowledge in the Fade but Dorian found it hard to believe. Unless there was some kind of Fade library he was unaware of, it seemed as though there was more to the story than the quiet elf was saying. Or not saying. Something along those lines, in any case.

He made his way over to Samarra, who - to his displeasure - was talking to Solas. Why did she hang out with the bald hobo elf so much, anyway? It wasn’t like they had anything in common. She was always so cheery and happy - sickeningly so, at times - and he was so grim and fatalistic. She accepted everyone for who they were, while he was derogatory about everyone, no matter who they were. Sure, he knew a lot, but Dorian didn’t know if he could bring himself to put up with the man for the sake of learning something new. Samarra, however, didn’t have those qualms.

He observed their interaction from a distance. There was something in the elf’s eye he did not like, a sort of predatory hunger that was directed at the redhead. Was the elf  _ interested _ in Samarra? Surely not! Dorian didn’t think the man was capable of being interested in another living being. And even if he was,  _ she _ was  _ clearly _ out of his league. Samarra looked like she was born to be wrapped in silks and exquisite jewels and the richest, softest furs. He could hardly picture her trudging behind the apostate, wandering through one Maker-forsaken forest after another. What kind of life would it be? Quite laughable.

He  _ really _ didn’t like the way the elven mage was looking at his friend.

“Samarra!” he called out, smug at the momentary flicker of annoyance that flashed across Solas’ face.

“Yes, Dorian?” she said with that laughing smile of hers.

“Wherever did you get the schematics for these?”

“The Black Emporium. That’s all I can really say. If you ask me to take you there again, I’m sure I couldn’t. The store is, like, totally hidden away.”

“What did Dagna make for you?” he asked.

She beamed. “The best thing ever. I was just talking to Solas about it. Look!” she said proudly, holding out a… bow.

“You got a bow?” he asked, raising his brows.

She laughed. “No, silly. It’s a bow- _ staff _ . See the focus crystals at either end? I can use it to focus my magic, should I want to.”

“That’s… alright, fine. Count me impressed.”

“It is impressive, isn’t it? Dagna outdid herself. In fact, she made these for me, too.” The redhead pointed at what looked suspiciously like broken arrows. “Those are the bottom parts of the arrows,” she explained. “I was asking Solas here if there was a way I could use these to conjure up magical arrows.”

“Like our dear Lady Vivienne’s spirit blade,” he caught on immediately. “Well, if that’s possible, I have no doubt you would be the world’s first spirit archer, my dear. What does our resident Fade expert have to say about that?”

“It is certainly possible,” Solas said calmly. The man was always calm, infuriatingly so. Dorian had never seen him angry, ever. He wondered what it would take to rouse the elf’s fury. “It would require training and practice, neither of which we have time for now. We can look into the matter more once we return from Adamant,” the elf finished.

“Boo,” Samarra said, pouting. “I was hoping I could learn it in time.”

“Samarra darling, I know you’re talented, but even  _ you _ can’t exactly master a technique that, let’s face it, doesn’t exist yet, in a day and a half!” he teased.

She chuckled. “You’re right. I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m sure there’s plenty of time to learn, right?”

“I suppose so. Really, you should give that wonderful little brain of yours a break. All work and no play makes Samarra a dull little girl.”

“We couldn’t want that now, would we?” she laughed.

“Certainly not. As your friend, I’m kidnapping you and subjecting you to a day of fun. I have the most  _ wonderful _ vintage sitting in my room. If you can persuade the kitchen staff to spare something to nibble on as you usually do, what say you and I have a relaxing afternoon sipping wine and listening to some of that  _ beautiful _ music you have in your head?”

“That sounds great, Dorian! I’ll meet you in your room, then?” she said with a smile.

“Meet me by that quiet alcove in the courtyard, you know that one that’s tucked away and hidden out of sight?”

“I know the one,” she confirmed.

“Do hurry up, will you? The past few weeks have been  _ so _ very tiresome.”

“You got it,” she grinned. “I’ll catch you later Solas, okay? I’m glad you like your staff!”

When Dorian turned to Solas, he found the elven mage glowering at him. He ignored it, flashing the mage a bright smile. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t linger. I have a date to get to.”

A flash of fiery fury at his use of the word ‘date’ had Dorian taking an uneasy step back. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, leaving him to wonder whether he’d imagined it. “I hope the two of you have a good time, Master Pavus,” the elven apostate said gracefully, but there was a hint of darkness in his eyes. Or was he imagining that, too? Dorian wasn’t sure. “Samarra could certainly use some time to relax.” The elf walked away, his back stiff, long strides taking him towards the door, and Dorian, for some strange reason, was left feeling somewhat… worried.

Not for himself, but for his redheaded friend.

That wasn’t good… was it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone call Dalish, Dagna's made a 'bow" hehehehe  
> Adamant's right around the corner. I wonder what's going to happen :O
> 
> * * *
> 
> As you can tell, I'm trying something different! I've been inspired by LadyDracarys [who has some truly gorgeous covers for her work,, which is also amazing] and thought I'd give it a shot. What do you think? 
> 
> Random, but I've been stuck at the Arbor Wilds for over a month now. There's this idea that I have, that I'm not entirely certain about, but it's certainly very appealing to me, but I hadn't planned it in the start, but I kinda want to include it now... only I'm having a bit of trouble figuring out how to fit it in...
> 
> I reckon it'll be about 6 or so chapters to the end, by my count. To the end of part 1, anyway. Oh yeah... this is likely going to be a multi-part story. OOPS.


	74. Distraction Is Better Than Waiting And Wondering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition sets off for Adamant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really cannot thank all of you who left such supportive comments enough. The past few weeks have been rough, but I've been slowly picking myself up and pushing forward. I - we - have been trying to get pregnant for years, and to have come so close was just heartbreaking. I couldn't help but blame myself. The guilt, combined with the depression I struggle with, lead me down some truly dark paths, but I'm fortunate to have an incredibly supportive partner and some wonderful friends who have been able to help me through. Thank you for all the support. I wish I could reach out and give each and every one of you a hug! Reading through your comments helped me so much, it made me feel like I wasn't alone. I hope that you all know that you've touched and helped me. It isn't something to take lightly, so please, I cannot emphasize enough how grateful I am ❤ ❤ ❤
> 
> Writing has been rather difficult of late, so I had promised myself that I would finish part one of A Whole New World before posting again. Unfortunately, it has been a struggle, and I'm not sure when it's going to come back again. I have the ideas and the outlines ready, but the words refuse to come out. In any case, I saw no merit in holding back what I've already written :) Hopefully, this will give me the jumpstart I need to move along!

**POV Samarra**

The mood as they rode out to Adamant was serious. Everyone knew that they faced a hard battle, and the atmosphere reflected that. She found it difficult to not freak out when everyone was so grim-faced, so she ended up hanging out with Marian, Garrett and Varric, who refused to stop joking and fooling around, much to some of the other companion’s frustration.

Sera was pointedly avoiding her, having heard from her sources that Samarra had encouraged Helena not to take the blond archer with her in her team. Vivienne, as always, was riding further away from the group. She seemed to get along somewhat well with Cassandra and Dorian. Samarra stuck her tongue out at Dorian - she would rather have the Tevint by her side than the viper. He shrugged helplessly and inclined his head towards Helena, so she gathered that the Inquisitor had requested him to spend time with Madame de Fer.

Cole was taking his role as her bodyguard quite seriously, and always had an eye on her, no matter where she went. It also seemed as though Anders and Widris were keeping a watch on her, too. She’d warned both Anders and Widris - and their spirits - that they would need to be careful; Adamant was going to be brutal, filled with atrocities, and they could not afford to let their emotions get too much in the way. “When you feel yourself slipping,” she’d told them, “remind yourself that we are here to set things right. The Inquisition marches to Adamant to do good.”

Her team of healers comprised of Giles, Everna, Widris, Anders, Ashalle and Ellandra. She’d left behind two or three of the mage healers in charge at Skyhold; they were competent enough, but they were young, and she didn’t want to unnecessarily expose them to the horrors of war. They’d already lived through one; she wanted them to retain their innocence as long as they could. It wasn’t a nice world out there; why not let them remain sheltered for just a little longer?

They rode past Halamshiral and Lydes, the Imperial Highway skirting the outskirts of the cities so she wasn’t able to see what the cities looked like. The Inquisitor and her companions spent the night at an inn in a small, sleepy town between Lydes and Verchiel called Cancale, which nevertheless was buzzing with excitement when they arrived. They had gotten permission from Orlais and Ferelden to move Inquisition troops within the borders of the two nations, provided they did not antagonize anyone. Josephine had been hard at work getting the various nobles to agree to providing passage for their troops, but after a lot of bargaining and trading of favors, it had been accomplished.

The next few days were spent crossing Verchiel, Montsimmard, Val Firmin and Val Foret. They rested at Val Foret; the next two days would be spent off the Imperial Highway, as they made their way into the deserts of the Western Approach. The Approach was a dangerous place, full of unstable purple sands and strong howling winds and a savage, fierce sun beating down on the lands. There was the threat of darkspawn coming out of hiding at night, as well as the dangerous wildlife.

They rode out well before dawn the next morning eager to do as much travelling as they could before the sun became too hot. And  _ hoo boy _ was the sun hot. It beat down on them mercilessly, making everyone uncomfortable. When the sun was high in the sky, and tempers were close to erupting, they made it to the first of the iron towers that marked the path in the badlands. It was over a hundred feet tall, old and rusted, and from where they stood, they could make out the next marker way off in the distance.

She noticed Helena looking grim and serious, her back straight, worry writ on her brow. Everyone looked the same way, grim and fatalistic, as though a sword was hanging over their heads. The uncertainty of what faced them ate at them. She knew she needed to give them some hope, to raise their spirits, and wondered what would do it.

It struck her. A song. She spurred Isaline onwards till she was riding by Helena’s side, and began to sing, looking at the Inquisitor with a smile.

_ All her life she has seen, _

_ All the meaner side of me; _

_ They took away the Prophet’s dream, _

_ For a plot to take the streets. _

 

_ Now she’s stronger than you know, _

_ A heart of steel starts to grow. _

 

_ All his life he’s been told, _

_ He’ll be nothing when he’s old; _

_ All the kicks and all the blows, _

_ He won’t ever let it show. _

 

_ ‘Cause he’s stronger than you know, _

_ A heart of steel starts to grow. _

 

_ When you’ve been fighting for it all your life, _

_ You’ve been struggling to make things right, _

_ That’s how a superhero learns to fly. _

 

_ Every day, every hour, turning pain into power! _

 

_ When you’ve been fighting for it all your life, _

_ You’ve been working every day and night, _

_ That’s how a superhero learns to fly. _

 

_ Every day, every hour, turning pain into power! _

 

_ All the hurt, all the lies, _

_ All the tears that we cry; _

_ When the moment is just right, _

_ They’ll see fire in our eyes; _

 

_ ‘Cause we’re stronger than you know, _

_ A heart of steel starts to grow. _

 

_ When you’ve been fighting for it all your life, _

_ You’ve been struggling to make things right, _

_ That’s how a superhero learns to fly. _

 

_ Every day, every hour, turning pain into power! _

 

_ When you’ve been fighting for it all your life, _

_ You’ve been working every day and night, _

_ That’s how a superhero learns to fly. _

 

_ Every day, every hour, turning pain into power! _

 

_ We’ve got lions in our hearts, _

_ A fire in our souls, _

_ We’ve got a beast in our bellies that’s so hard to control, _

_ ‘Cause we’ve taken too much hits, _

_ Taking blow by blow, _

_ Now light a match, stand back, watch us explode! _

 

_ When you’ve been fighting for it all your life, _

_ You’ve been struggling to make things right, _

_ That’s how a superhero learns to fly. _

 

_ Every day, every hour, turning pain into power! _

 

_ When you’ve been fighting for it all your life, _

_ You’ve been working every day and night, _

_ That’s how a superhero learns to fly. _

 

_ Every day, every hour, turning pain into power! _

She reached out for Helena’s hand, raising it high in the air, grinning widely at her, and the companions cheered behind her, the grim mood having been replaced by determination. Helena looked at her gratefully, and pressed her lips to the back of Samarra’s hand, a symbol of affection and strength.

They rode onwards doggedly. Bull had made his way over to her, and they had spent the better part of the morning laughing and joking. He had his charming and flirtatious act fully on, and though she knew to be careful, she couldn’t help but enjoy his wit. And his dirty jokes. The man was very good at making dirty jokes.

As the sun’s light grew weaker, however, she noticed that Bull was looking a bit… apprehensive. Clearly something about the area spooked him. She tried to distract him with conversation, but he only grunted and gave short replies, and soon she gave up.

After a short while of riding in silence, a calm voice spoke up. “How do you feel, Iron Bull? Do you need a distraction to focus your mind?”

_ What’s he getting at? _ she wondered. She knew Solas and Iron Bull did not get along, did not see eye-to-eye. So why was the elf suddenly being so solicitous?

“Well, this area’s low on dancing girls. Sadly.” Bull muttered.

“King’s pawn to E4.”

“You’re shitting me.” Bull swung his massive head around to stare at Solas. “We don’t even have a board!”

Solas smirked. “Too complicated for the Ben-Hassrath spy?”

Bull grumbled. “Smug little asshole. Pawn to E5.”

“Pawn to F4. King’s gambit.”

“Accepted. Pawn takes pawn. Give me a bit to get the pieces set in my head. Then we’ll see what you’ve got.”

Samarra kept her eyes firmly fixed ahead of her, even though she could feel Solas’ gaze on her back. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. How could she have forgotten? The unspoken yet implied battle between the qunari and the man who was a god. How often had she puzzled over it, wondering why,  _ why _ the Dread Wolf had been so willing to sacrifice so many on his side for a win.

If he won, who was left to share his victory with him?

A part of her was excited that this banter was finally happening. The timing seemed a little off, but she didn’t care. The chess match between Bull and Solas had been one of her favorite bits of banter, and now she was getting to hear it live! She set the board up in her head as well, from memory.

“So, where were we? Solas lazily spoke up. “Ah, yes. Mage to C4.”

“Little aggressive,” Bull noted. “Arishok to H4. Check.”

She followed the game. Arishok was Bull’s term for the Queen. Ben-Hassrath were Knights. Tamassrans were bishops, but Solas called them mages. She’d always wondered why. Solas used the correct term for most of the pieces, save the rooks, which he called towers - which made sense, considering elephants weren't really a thing in Thedas - and the bishops, which he referred to as mages. There had to be a Chantry equivalent to Bishop, so why wasn't he using it? How did bishops compare to mages? Bull pretty much assigned a Qunari title for each of his pieces, so he was consistent in that way. But Solas? No, the wily mage was definitely implying something.

She remembered that a mage and a pawn had defeated the Viddasala’s army. She’d always thought the mage referred to Solas himself, and the pawn was the Inquisitor. Was that not what happened during Trespasser?

But now… it felt different. More personal. There was a tautness, a tension in the air as the two forged a battle of their wits. It was noted by everyone, but most of her friends found it amusing, and paid little heed to it, the game being too complicated for them to follow without visual aid. Only Cole seemed agitated, muttering beneath his breath so fast she could not make out the words.

“So, are you giving up the Tamassran at B5 or the Ben-Hassrath at H4?”

“Neither.” It was stated calmly. “Knight to F5.”

Samarra followed their game closely, but pretended as though she was paying no attention to it. She’d seen enough gameplays of their match on earth that allowed her to see what was happening, and to know how it would end up. It seemed… important… that she followed their game. She didn’t know or understand why, just that it did.

“And now my Ben-Hassrath takes your Queen. You’ve got no towers, you’re down to a single mage….” She observed the gameboard in her head. Bull still had most of his pieces. Solas had both his knights, a mage, and most of his pawns.

The elven apostate played an aggressive game, willing to sacrifice pieces to gain a quick victory. But she found herself siding with Bull, appreciating the fact that he was unwilling to sacrifice his pieces. The Qunari was unwilling to sacrifice the lives of those he cared about. It boded well for his personal quest.

Did that mean, however, that she was doomed to lose, just like Bull? She too was unwilling to risk the lives of those she cared about…

“Mage to E7. Checkmate.” Solas was so smug.

“You sneaky son of a bitch,” Bull muttered. “Nice game, mage.”

“And you as well, Iron Bull,” the elf declared cheerfully.

“I don’t get it,” she spoke up lazily. “Bull, you still have most of your pieces, while Solas barely has any. Doesn’t that mean a victory of sorts for you? I mean sure, he won, but it’s not like his king has many pieces left to celebrate with, right?”

Bull snorted. “I don’t think chess works that way, little wolf.”

She shrugged. “Who says I was talking about chess? I’d rather be on a losing team where I know my commander cares about my life, than a team that’s so focused on victory my life becomes expendable, you know what I mean?” Her statement spurred a debate between her companions, some people arguing that sacrifice was necessary for victory, while others were more concerned about saving as many lives as possible. Having said her piece, she opted out of the debate, instead conversing with Marian and Garrett.

She could feel Solas’ angry aura brushing up against hers.

When they made camp that night, they could see Adamant in the distance, the faint gleam of torches noticeable, and knew it was occupied. The night air was close to freezing, a complete opposite from the blistering heat of the day. The mages had drawn up several heating glyphs around the camp area, and they all sat around the campfire, laughing and sharing stories, trying not to focus on the fact that tomorrow they would be laying siege to Adamant.

* * *

**POV Blackwall**

The mood at camp that evening was tense. Everyone sat around the fire talking quietly amongst themselves. For once, he was glad that the Inquisitor – Helena – hadn’t asked him to join the meeting earlier, with the two wardens.

The two  _ real _ wardens.

He still had no idea why they hadn’t outed him. Warden Stroud had confronted him, in private, the evening of their first meeting, demanding answers. The man had known Warden Blackwall, had been a personal friend of his, and Stroud had certainly not been taken in by the act that he’d been putting on.

Or the lie he was living.

Alistair had known too, had explained to him, with hardened eyes and a stern mouth, that the joining ritual gave all wardens the power to sense their fellow Wardens. He’d been forced to explain himself, though he’d had to gloss over his past. Telling them that he’d been a criminal at one point of time, that Blackwall had recruited him, told them of the fateful day where they’d been attacked by darkspawn, and the brave man’s death. And how he had taken the man’s name and his life, not just fearful of being accused of his death, but also wanting his death to mean something, to continue doing good.

Alistair had been quiet for a long time after he’d spoken, and he feared that both wardens would reveal his secret to the people he’d come to respect and look at as friends. To the Inquisitor, and the Oracle, two women who were brave, and strong, and good and kind. To know that they would look upon him with disappointment – to know that his friends be scornful and derisive of who he’d been – it had been too much for him to bear, and for a moment he’d seriously given thought to fleeing under the cover of night.

But Alistair had spoken with Stroud, all hushed whispers that he couldn’t decipher except for the name ‘Duncan’ mentioned several times, and both men had agreed to keep his secret – on the condition he reveal it to the Inquisition in the near future. He’d readily agreed, relieved, but now… when they were a stone’s throw from Adamant, from the Warden’s fortress…

He shifted uneasily, and to distract himself from the speculative look in Iron Bull’s eye, he pulled out his sword and began to sharpen the blade. No matter what happened tomorrow, he vowed, he would give nothing but his best. 

It was the least he could to, to honor the real Blackwall.

Besides, this was what Grey Wardens did. They were honorable men and women who were sworn to protect all of Thedas against the darkspawn. To know that they were now perilously close to serving their sworn enemy – to know that they had sunken so low as to use blood magic – it was a distressing thought indeed. He’d been so vociferous in his disbelief when the Oracle had stated it, but even he could not deny the strange, ominous feeling he had, nor could he ignore the flashes of eerie light that came from Adamant every now and then.

He found himself glancing over in the redheaded healer’s direction. The woman was distressingly complicated. He had no idea whether she was aware of his deceit. It was frustrating – she could be crystal clear if she chose to be – which she did, albeit at her own time and her own convenience – but neither did she hide the fact that she harbored secrets of her own. It irked him at times, to know that she had secrets related to her past, but that the Inquisitor, and most of his companions chose to ignore that and trust her nonetheless.

He refused to admit to himself that her situation gave him some hope for acceptance. Because they weren’t alike. He was a criminal living a lie, and she was… she was a healer. He took lives, she healed them. They were polar opposites.

_ She does kill when she has to, though _ a traitorous voice in his mind reminded him. He shook his head.  _ That was for self defense, _ he reminded himself.  _ Not for greed. Not for gold. _

She was a beautiful woman, he couldn’t deny the fact. And had she shown any interest in him, he’d have been sorely tempted to return it. Part of him was rather disappointed that she didn’t have any interest beyond friendship with him, but still, she was warm and open, caring and considerate. Though at times he had to wonder about her past. The mysterious, otherworldly woman who had supposedly trained her – it seemed too fantastical to believe at times. And yet, he’d seen for himself just how fine a healer she was. But still, it  _ was _ curious how a woman who claimed to be a peasant was so knowledgeable. Rivaini seers were supposed to be mystical, he’d heard tales of them, but to have such clarity into future events was definitely spooky.

He put his blade away, fingers twitching to keep himself occupied from the guilty thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him. His gaze moved around the campfire. Several people had retired for the night; that Vivienne and Dorian were missing came as no surprise to him. He’d learned that they were ridiculously obsessed with the thing that the Orlesians called ‘beauty sleep’. Stroud had retired to his tent too – the man had been getting steadily more depressed and worried the closer they got to Adamant, and it was easy to see that he was feeling very conflicted. Varric was chatting with the female Hawke, sniggering away at something. The Inquisitor was seated next to the Oracle, both of them engrossed in a serious-looking conversation with Warden Alistair and the male Hawke.

For a split second, a feeling of panic came over him when Helena’s eyes met his, that his secret had been revealed at last. Then she smiled, and the moment passed. The Inquisitor nodded at him, tilting her head as an invitation for him to join their conversation. He raised his hand, signaling that he was doing fine. The last thing he needed at the moment was to talk to them, a Warden who had defeated the Fifth Blight, the Inquisitor, the Champion of Kirkwall and the Oracle. He wasn’t fitting company. He was nobody compared to them, he was nothing, he was…

“You’re scared.”

He nearly jumped out of his skin, so startled was he. He looked up to find Cole standing in front of him, a concerned look on the young lad’s face.

“Didn’t see you there, boy,” he muttered gruffly. “Reckon most of us are. It’s not an easy fight ahead of us.”

Cole shook his head. “Fear, gnawing and bleeding, sliding beneath the skin.  _ They can’t know. They’ll hate me. _ They wouldn’t.”

_ Fuck it all, that creepy thing’s been in my head. It knows. _

Cole looked distressed now. “I want to help. You’re scared. It hurts you. I want to help.”

“Get away from me, lad. Isn’t there someone else you can bother? Why don’t you go talk to Solas?”

“He hurts, but it’s not so loud as yours. You took the name as a shield. Blackwall, but the wall begins to crack. You don’t want it to, but it’s not a bad thing.”

“Stop going through my head!” he said, voice rising in temper. “Why are you here? Do you even understand what is happening in the world? What is happening here?”

“I heal the helpless. Give hope where there is hurt. There is a lot of hurt here. It festers. I want to help.”

“But you claim to be a spirit. How does a spirit become flesh anyway?”

“I don’t know. How does a Warden become grey?”

“You make no sense, lad. Best you move away to someplace else. You’re giving me a headache.” He really was. Blackwall could feel the stirrings of a nasty headache at the back of his head. If Cole didn’t give him some room, it’d turn into a full-blown one, and he couldn’t afford that, not with the battle looming ahead.

“Cole, are you disturbing Blackwall?” Samarra called out pleasantly. “If he’s asking for space, you should give it.”

The young lad was unhappy, but he obeyed the Oracle instantly, moving away from him and going to her side. That was puzzling to him, how the strange spirit-demon boy seemed to have a fond affection for her. It was so out of place. Especially since the only other person Cole got along well with was Solas, who, as everyone knew, had his head firmly stuck between a book and the Fade. What did the spirit boy see in the Oracle that drew him to her? 

He sighed. The headache was threatening to get worse. He rose to his feet and began the short walk to his tent, but just as he reached out for the flaps a voice halted his hand. 

“Warden Blackwall?” 

He turned, surprised to find Stroud standing in the shadows. “Yes?”

“Could you spare a moment? I’d like to have a word in private.”

He glanced around. No one was paying them any attention. “Sure,” he replied easily, and stepped in line with Stroud as they walked to the outskirts of camp, well away from earshot. “Is there a problem?” he asked, praying that it had nothing to do with Thom Rainier.

“We’re going to be entering Adamant tomorrow,” Stroud began, getting straight to the point. “Every single Warden within those walls will know you’re not a Warden. I suggest you keep your mouth shut, and draw as little attention as possible to your  _ title _ .” Stroud’s mustache quivered slightly as his mouth twisted into a slight sneer. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I also recommend coming clean to your companions. Sooner or later, they’re going to learn the truth one way or another. That’s the thing with the truth – you can’t keep it hidden for very long. In any case, they deserve to hear it straight from you, and not from someone else.” Stroud’s gaze was disturbingly intense, and Blackwall squirmed at how piercing it was. “Blackwall was a good man, and deserves to have his name for himself. If you don’t tell the Inquisitor about who you really are, and soon, be sure that I will.” With that, the man walked away back to the tents, leaving him alone in the darkness.

He definitely had a headache now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is Superheroes by The Script - modified slightly for story purposes.
> 
> I've always been really fascinated by the chess game that Solas and Bull have. Especially during my second playthrough, when I realized that it was actually rather prophetical. It also shows an insight into how both of them think. And I believe, given how Bull is so hesitant to lose even a single piece of 'his... that's very indicative of the decision he would make in his personal quest.
> 
> So, Blackwall. I played DAI first, and his whole revelation took me by total surprise, but then I played DAO and I kept thinking 'why didn't any of the wardens say anything?'. Turns out, not _all_ wardens can sense other wardens [thanks, ma-sulevin for helping me out with that bit of lore!] but I'd like to think Stroud would've been one of them. And there's no way he'd have let Blackwall know that the others in Adamant wouldn't be able to tell him apart.
> 
> Adamant looms, as does the Fade! Who will escape? Who will perish? :O


	75. The Strong Fight Battles That The World Cannot Comprehend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samarra experiences the siege of Adamant first hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Come hang out with me on [Tumblr](https://roguelioness.tumblr.com/)! I'm always up for a good chat or a DA-related discussion. I also post drabbles there from time to time!

Samarra observed the proceedings from the relative safety of the makeshift infirmary they’d set up. Trebuchets launched flaming missiles at the imposing towers of the fortress, shattering the old stone in an explosion of rubble. The roar of the Inquisition soldiers as they marched towards the gates of Adamant resounded in the air. She could make Cullen out at the forefront, giving directions to the men. A huge battering ram was being rolled towards the gates.

Warden archers lined the battlements, raining arrows down on the men below. The mages in the units  put up barriers, and the soldiers shielded the mages with their shields. They worked well in tandem, and already Samarra could see that the number of casualties would be reduced.

Cullen pulled his sword out of his scabbard, and gave an order. Tall ladders bearing soldiers were raised against the curtain walls in an attempt to secure the battlements. She could only watch and hope that the men would be safe.

A whistle in the air alerted her to their first patients. She moved back to the tents set up, waiting to see what injuries she and the other healers would have to deal with. Ten stretchers were rushed in, with injured soldiers, mostly with crush injuries and arrow wounds. The healers rushed out, ready to do their job. Samarra took the worst of the crush injuries - several soldiers had fallen victim to the boulders that the Wardens were hurling off the battlements. They were barely half an hour into the siege and already they were struggling, overwhelmed with the severity of the injuries. Samarra found herself treating a soldier whose leg had been crushed into all but bone dust, struggling to restore the integrity and structure of the bone, then repairing the tissue beneath. When she was done healing the two with the severest of injuries, she was exhausted, and sweat beaded her forehead. She very much suspected that this would be the night where she would have to take her first draught of lyrium; if she wanted to have enough mana to continue healing she would have no other choice.

The sound of the ram battering down the metal gate could be heard. An exultant cheer indicated to her that Cullen had found a way through for Helena. She ran out of the tent, seeing the Inquisitor and her companions storm through the gates, flanked by Inquisition soldiers who battled the Wardens.

She cast an eye over the battlements. Thanks to Leliana’s construction notes, the Inquisition soldiers had taken advantage of the choke points, using them to force the Wardens into a corner and clearing them from the battlements. Demons still roamed around; she could make out the distinctive red glow of rage demons, and electricity sparked in the air from what could only be a pride demon. But she had hope that the mixed military units would prove successful in defeating not only the demons, but the Warden mages controlling them. There would be no time for Helena to clear out the battlements, like in the game. The Inquisitor’s priority was to get to Clarel as quickly as possible.

A second wave of casualties arrived, and Samarra was soon occupied with the injured men. The scouts who were bringing in the injured told her that the Inquisition soldiers were fighting fiercely, secure in the knowledge that their Chief Surgeon was on standby should anything happen to them. They had faith in her and her team, she was told, but had no time to bask in the compliment.

Moans of pain filled the tent, and for the first time she was thankful she’d thought to stock up on potions. She’d ordered well over twice the amount she’d guesstimated, but it looked as though they would need every single one of the potions. She checked in with Widris and Anders when she was able to, pleased to note that they worked quickly, methodically, and, in Widris’ case, without flinching at the sights of blood and gore.

The mage healers were doing a splendid job as well. This was their first time out on the field, and though most of them had vomited at the horrors of the injuries, they had quickly recovered and pulled themselves together, and now worked together in tandem with the non-mage healers to get the men and women of the Inquisition patched up as quickly as possible. Lyrium draughts were carried around by scouts, and downed by the mages. Samarra knew Harding was on site somewhere, keeping in touch with the spymaster back at Skyhold.

There was a roar in the air, and Samarra knew what came next. Helena had confronted Erimond and Clarel, Erimond’s true nature had been unmasked, and the magister had summoned Corypheus’ dragon. Indeed, she could see the beast soaring in the sky, aiming for the fortress. There were cries of alarm and panic amidst her healers and her scouts, and she quickly moved to a high point. “Listen!” she cried out. “Pay no attention to the creature! We are here for a purpose, and we cannot let anything sway us from that. The Inquisitor will deal with the vile beast! Do not panic! You must remain at your station!” She rallied the healers, and returned to her tasks as though nothing had happened, and soon her nonchalance rubbed off onto the others as well. They were now receiving soldiers by the dozens; there were a few who were dead by the time they made it to the infirmary, but Samarra could not afford the time to mourn for them.

“ _Ser_ healer!” A man in Inquisition armor came running towards her, panic writ on his face. “Your help is urgently needed! There's a man pinned down under a boulder, and we dare not move the rock for fear he will die. Please, only you can help him!”

“Anders!” she called out. “Take over here, will you? I’m needed elsewhere.” He nodded. “Right,” she said, turning her attention back to the seemingly panicked soldier, “take me to the injured soldier.”

“Right away, _ser_ ,” he said, and lead Samarra out of the infirmary towards one of the curtain walls. As they moved away from the infirmary, it became quieter, and she wondered why. Soon, she could barely see any of the Inquisition soldiers, and the infirmary was completely out of sight. A sense of uneasiness crept over her, and she slowed her walk. “Perhaps we should get others to help,” she said, trying to remain calm. “I’m not sure I can help by myself.”

The soldier gripped her arm, painfully tight, and she squirmed in his grip. She was unable to break free, however, and feared that attempting to do so might dislocate her shoulder. “What are you doing?” she exclaimed, beginning to panic. “Let go of me at once!”

The man’s eyes began to glow red, and she _really_ began to panic. “My master knew you would be here, Oracle,” he spoke in an ominous voice. “He will reward me for bringing you to him.” The Grey Warden mage began dragging her further into the darkness of the desert, away from the fortress and from the people who could help her.

She drew lightning to her skin, hoping to zap him, but he had already covered himself in a barrier. _Shit. Fuck. He’s a Grey Warden mage, and I’m alone with him. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck how did I not see this? Holy shit Corypheus is going to get his hands on me and there’s no one around to help me._

She tried to fight him, but she was already tired from healing all the injured men, and the possessed Warden mage was inhumanly strong. “Help!” she cried out. “Someone help me! Cole! Help!”

He used his free hand to slap her across the face, and her head recoiled from it. It was so hard and vicious she was dazed for several seconds. He forced her to her knees in the warm desert sand, grabbing her hair and harshly, painfully yanking her head backwards. She gave a yelp of pain, and struggled to free herself.

“Quiet, you wretch,” he hissed, and reached into his belt. Pulling out a long, thin, narrow vial with a clear liquid inside, he uncorked it with his teeth. “Open up,” he ordered, and she instead clamped her jaws together, not knowing what the liquid was but instinctively  recognizing it wasn’t anything she should drink. He moved his hand from her hair to her jaw, pressing down on her cheeks, forcing her jaws open. She could feel the skin on the inside of her cheeks shred against her teeth, and knew that she would have bruises from the force of his grip. He poured the clear liquid into her mouth, forcing her mouth shut before she could spit it out.

“Drink,” he ordered, but she stared at him defiantly. With a frustrated hiss, the possessed Grey Warden mage used his free hand to pinch her nose shut, forcing her throat muscles to swallow. She could feel a strange, numbing sensation as the liquid moved down the column of her throat. In a few moments, the numbing sensation had spread to every part of her, and she felt incredibly, immeasurably weak. She felt like she was paralyzed, but in a strange way, for she could still move her limbs, albeit somewhat sluggishly. Whatever that liquid was had done something to her, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to defend herself. _This is it. This is how it ends. This was what Helena saw in Redcliffe. He’s going to take me to Corypheus, and Corypheus is going to do terrible things to me, and I’m going to end up working for him even though I don’t want to and he’s going to make me kill all my friends. Kill everyone. Oh god, please, no, it can’t end this way. Please, someone, anyone, help!_

She fought against him, but her attempts were pitiful and she knew it. So did he, from the derisive, scorn-filled  laughter he gave. “Soon,” he promised, “You will meet my master. And you will bow down to him. You will learn what it means to serve a god.”

_Oh for fuck’s sake I’ve had enough of gods._

“Help,” she croaked weakly. “Someone, please help.”

“There’s no one around to hear you,” the possessed mage chuckled evilly. “No one’s coming to save you, wretch.”

“Foul, vile, evil, I will not let you have her,” a familiar voice spoke out, and she nearly cried with relief.

“Cole! Cole-bun, help!”

“I’m here. He’s here. We’re here. We’re here for you,” the voice said. She could hear him, but she couldn’t see him, and wondered what was going on. The Warden mage was also alarmed, glancing around in all directions. He hauled her to her feet, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Stay back!” the possessed mage threatened. “Or I will kill her!”

“You won’t kill her, you need her, he wants her, wants her mind, wants to bind, wants to find the secrets she harbors. He will not have her.”

“Cole, where is she?” a booming voice rang out. _Iron Bull_.

“Bull!” she called out, using all her energy to shout. “Here! Help!”

Footsteps headed in her direction. The Warden mage took up an offensive position, still holding her prisoner. Iron Bull burst onto the scene, much like an action movie hero, and if Samarra hadn’t been so goddamned terrified out of her mind she’d have laughed at the absurdity of it.

“Hey,” he boomed. “You might want to let the lady go. I’d hate to get your blood on her.”

“Stay back,” the Warden mage hissed. “She belongs to the Elder One.”

“How about no,” Bull calmly said. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to beat the shit out of you, and then I’m going to kill you, and then I’m going to take the lady back with me, where she actually wants to be. How’s that for a plan?”

“I will kill her,” the possessed mage threatened.

“You will not hurt her,” a soft voice said, before two daggers appeared out of the thin air and directly into the man’s neck. The mage let go of her, his hands clutching his bleeding throat, and she stumbled away from him and straight into Bull’s arms. Cole apparated, and pulled his daggers out - the daggers that Dagna had crafted for him. “You will not hurt the Keeper,” he murmured, and waited to make sure the man was completely dead before making his way to her.

“You’re hurt,” he observed, distressed. “He hurt you. I didn’t stop him from hurting you. I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay, Cole-bun,” she said, reaching for him with a shaky hand. “The most important thing is that I’m alive, and I’m okay. This will heal.”

“You okay, little wolf?” Bull asked her.

“I think so. He… he poisoned me with something, I think. I can barely hold myself up.”

“Come on, little wolf. Let’s get you back to the healers. Hey, this time you’ll be going in as a patient. How ironic is that?”

“Ha ha ha,” she said sourly.

As they got closer to the infirmary, Bull boomed out. “Got a fallen chief surgeon over here! Someone needs to take a look at her.”

Anders and Widris came rushing out at his words, worried expressions on their faces. “What happened?” Anders asked.

“Sneaky Grey Warden mage dressed as an Inquisition soldier,” she said weakly. “Poisoned me with something. Wanted to haul me off to Corypheus. Cole and Bull saved me in time.”

“Poisoned, you say?” Anders looked really worried. She could see the green light of the pulse of magic he sent into her, but she couldn’t feel it, and that worried her. “Well,” he said with a sigh, ”it’s good and bad news. Good news is, the poison isn’t going to kill you. You’ll be fine, if a little weak. Bad news is, it was magebane. You’re completely cut off from your magic now, until the poison works its way out of your system, which will take a couple of hours.”

“Fuck!” she swore. “Right when I was needed!”

“Widris and I can handle things,” he said, exchanging a glance with the other spirit healer. “You need to rest, take it easy. I take it this is your first time with magebane?”

“What gave it away,” she muttered.

He chuckled. “It’s always the worst the first time, because you have no idea what’s going on. The next time you get poisoned, it’ll likely be the same, but at least you’ll know what’s happening.”

“That’s not reassuring, Anders!” she snarked.

“In all seriousness, find a seat in a quiet, _protected_ corner and hunker down. You’re not going to be able to do anything till the magebane’s out of your body.”

“Like hell I am,” she muttered. _I have to do something. I can’t sit around like a helpless lump… I can still fight. I must. I can’t let them down… I can’t let Helena down. And the Hawkes… no, I have to do something._ “So my magic’s gone. I can still wield a bow.”

“You can’t be serious,” Bull was astonished. “You’re going to go into that shitfest in your condition?”

“I have to agree with him,” Anders said. “You’d likely be more a liability than help.”

Before she could argue, Cullen came running up to the tent. “You!” he spat, pointing at Samarra. “What do you know of the Inquisitor’s disappearance?” he asked angrily, suspicion lacing his tone.

“The Inquisitor’s disappeared?” Iron Bull was incredulous. “What happened?”

“My men report that she was chasing after Warden-Commander Clarel and the Tevinter magister. That.. demon beast was chasing after them. They’re not sure what happened, only that the battlement wall gave away beneath them. The beast fell off the cliff and into the Abyssal rift. They say the Inquisitor and her companions fell, too. But when we searched the rubble, we couldn’t find their bodies!”

“That’s because Helena managed to open up a rift with her mark before they hit the ground,” she said calmly. “They’re all in the Fade, Commander.”

“Maker’s breath,” he gasped in horror. “No one has physically walked the Fade and survived…”

“Except for Helena,” she reminded him. Cullen, gather as many men as you can. There is a rift in the main courtyard, is there not? That will be where Helena exits. You must guard it and defend it till they do.” She made her way over to the corner of the healer’s tent where her bow and quiver were stashed away. “I will come with you.”

“You can’t go!” Anders exclaimed. He turned to Cullen. “Make her see reason, Commander. She has been poisoned by magebane.”

“Magebane!” Cullen exclaimed. “How?”

“That’s neither here nor there!” she snapped. “Yes, I cannot use magic, but my body still works. I can still wield a weapon, Commander. I will defend that rift till Helena comes out.”

He read the determination in her eyes, and nodded slowly, impressed. “Very well,” he said. “You can join the men. Bull, Cole, stay by the Oracle’s side.”

“Where is Fiona?” Samarra asked.

“The Grand Enchanter has been a great help,” Cullen said. “She helped my men secure the battlements. I believe I will call on her help in securing the rift.”

She turned to Anders and Widris, who looked unhappy. “Anders, Widris, you two are in charge. Keep the men alive, will you?” They nodded.

“Alright,” she said, swinging the quiver onto her back, “let’s protect that rift, and wait for the Inquisitor.”

Cullen lead them through several areas of what seemed like intense fighting - the clash of steel on steel was jarring, and the roars of anger and pain were disconcerting, but he assured her that the worst of the battle was over, and that Helena had succeeded in swaying some of the Warden warriors to their side. There were few mages left, a few of them having run off into the darkness of the desert, and what remained were mainly demons. They reached the main courtyard, where soldiers were already in the middle of battling demons. Samarra took up a vantage point by the corner of the main bailey, which was elevated and offered her an excellent position to fire into the courtyard. Bull charged into the fray, while Cole slipped into the shadows, with a whispered promise to look out for her. She took out an arrow and nocked it, aiming for a particularly large terror demon that seemed to have several soldiers terrified. With a slow exhale, she released it, cheering silently as it neatly pierced through the demon’s neck, killing it instantly.

They defended the rift for what seemed like hours. Samarra’s fingers were aching, her arm was numb, and she had to brace her bow against the wall of the bailey so she could keep it steady. The others weren’t faring so well either. Cullen was definitely flagging; it looked as though each slash of his sword, each thrust, was taking up more of his energy. Even Bull didn’t look happy, covered in blood and gore and black ichor. She exchanged a look with the Commander - his face was grim and set, and she knew that they wouldn’t be able to hold their positions for much longer.

Suddenly, the rift shone brighter, and seemed to widen. Everyone instantly tensed, bracing themselves for yet another round of demons. But a faint hope began to beat in Samarra’s heart, a hope that this time, this time, it would be Helena and her companions.

And so it was. With a loud grunt, Helena fell out of the rift, followed by Dorian, Varric, Cassandra and Blackwall. The Hawke twins were next, followed by Alistair and Stroud. She began to cry, seeing everyone alive; covered in blood, yes, injured, yes, but they were _alive_ and that was all that was important.

Her eyes took in the sight of her friends, and she frowned. They were missing one.

_Where was Solas_?

Dread filled her heart. She watched closely as Cullen ran to Helena, embracing her tightly. She saw Helena absent-mindedly console him, then turn around to face the soldiers. “Guard that rift!” she ordered hoarsely. “Solas is yet to come.”

_Oh, thank the Lord, she wasn’t going to leave him behind_. She refused to delve into why she was so relieved at that.

“We must close the rift, Inquisitor!” Cullen said. “Our men are too tired to fight any more demons.”

“We’re NOT going to leave a man behind, Cullen!” Helena roared, and Samarra cheered her on. “That man gave _everything_ he had to make sure the rest of us made it out safe. We _are_ going to wait for him, and that’s an order. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” she heard Cullen say.

They took down nine demons, including three - three! - pride demons, before Solas emerged from the rift, battered and bloodied. He stumbled into Blackwall’s arms, and the man instantly held him up. Blackwall caught sight of her, and bellowed out, “Samarra! The man here needs help!”

She rushed down to the main courtyard. She knew without her magic she was useless, but she had potions at her disposal, and perhaps she could use them. “Solas,” she called out, frightened by how pale he was, and how much blood he had on him.

He raised his head weakly, lifting his eyes to hers. “ _Aman’ma dir’vhen’an, da’assan_.”

She nodded, “ _Ma serannas, falon_.” Tears still leaked out from her eyes, but she made no move to brush them away.

His eyes focused on the bruises on her face. _“Ahn ma garem?”_ he demanded.

“Later,” she said. “Where are you hurt?”

“I have several wounds but I do not think any of them serious,” he said as calmly as he was able. “I believe you can heal them without any trouble.”

She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and pulled a healing potion from her belt. “Here,” she said, uncorking it with her teeth and pressing it to his lips. He frowned, but drank it down anyway, his wounds knitting over and healing in moments.

They watched as Helena closed the rift, as she addressed the remaining Wardens. When it came time for the Inquisitor to make the decision about the Wardens, Helena turned to look at Samarra. She nodded slightly; it was important that the Wardens remain. There were yet darkspawn left to fight.

The Inquisitor graciously allowed the remaining Wardens to join the Inquisition, and they all pledged themselves to her service. Most of the companions seemed okay with Helena’s decision, but she knew there were a few who disagreed. One of them happened to be right by her side, a scowl on his face.

The Wardens agreed to pack up and return to Skyhold with a contingent of soldiers. The battle finally over, Helena gave her a weak wave and made her way to the infirmary. She found herself gently guiding Solas there as well, the two of them lagging behind the rest because they were both completely exhausted.

“You have not explained the bruises on your face, _da’assan_ ,” he spoke up, his voice grim.

She cleared her throat. “There was… an incident earlier. A Warden mage dressed as an Inquisition soldier attempted to capture me. Cole and Bull saved me. It’s… I’m fine. It’s over, no point fretting over it.”

“And your sudden refusal to use magic?”

She sighed. “He poisoned me with magebane. I cannot use magic till it clears my system.”

He spun her around, making her face him. “Did you not have the antidote?” he demanded.

“No,” she admitted sheepishly. “I didn’t foresee the need. It’s okay, though. Anders assured me I will recover by tomorrow.”

Solas gently ran a finger over her bruises. “He wounded you,” he said softly. “I hope he suffered a painful death.”

Her heart gave a happy flip at his concern. _Hush, you stupid organ. Remember who this is!_   “Cole pretty much decapitated him,” she said.

“A pity I was not there. I would have liked to have dealt with him,” he said sternly. “I do not like the idea of someone laying hands on what I consider mine.”

She gulped at his serious tone. “I’m not yours, Solas.”

“Not yet,” he agreed with a smile. “It is a matter of time. A promise is a promise, as you are aware.”

She was all too aware. And was dreading the moment she would have to repay him for the favor she’d asked of him. Her eyes landed on her friends, safe and sound in the healer’s tent, tired and exhausted and worn out but happy to be alive.

_It is worth it,_ she reminded herself. _A partial loss of freedom for their lives. I can live with that._

Besides, if Solas wanted to mark her, there might not be any dumping involved, and maybe - just maybe - she could persuade him to change his mind...

She _hoped_ it would turn out like that. When it came to the Dread Wolf, one was never sure what his end game was. And knowing him, it would be something wily, and would likely come to bite her in the ass in the future. She could only hope that when the time came, she was prepared enough to face what he threw at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> _Aman’ma dir’vhen’an_ \- I have kept my promise
> 
> _Ma serannas, falon_ \- Thank you, my friend
> 
> _Ahn ma garem?_ \- What happened to you?
> 
> * * *
> 
> I just wanted to say thank you to each and every one of you who reads this story, and if you leave a comment. It means so much to know that there are people out there who like what I write! It's been a rough couple of weeks with this terrible writer's block that I have, and it's becoming quite disheartening. I usually take part in a writing event every Friday on Tumblr, and the past few weeks I have just been blanking on everything... it's rough. Fingers crossed that whatever is causing this mental clog goes away soon, because I'm getting really fed up!
> 
> Next chapter will also be about Adamant, FYI!


	76. Fading In And Out Of Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What _really_ happened in the Fade?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thoughts.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Sooo... this was supposed to go up last week, but... I got a new pup, and let's just say she's been quite a handful! Her name's Daisy, she's a hound/german shepard mix, she's two months old, and she is a HANDFUL. I've been training her, and if I don't keep an eye on her she'll chew _everything_. She cries if I go downstairs to the kitchen to get myself coffee/food, she cries if I go to take a shower, and her favorite way of getting my attention is to gnaw on my laptop cord! She knows me too well  >.< She's getting better, but I still end up spending a good deal of time housetraining her. She's currently sitting next to me, giving me puppy-dog eyes because I won't let her chew on the table XD Hopefully, she'll get better in a week or so, so I can get back to writing without distractions!
> 
> * * *

**POV Helena**

Seriously, could things get shittier than this?

Well, okay, maybe not the best question to ask oneself when one was  _ stuck in the bloody Fade _ .

That’s right. Helena Trevelyan, youngest daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick, former Templar recruit, supposed Herald of Andraste, and the appointed leader of the Inquisition was currently standing  _ in the fucking Fade in the fucking flesh _ .

What was it the Chantry had to say about that? Oh, right.  _ That was how darkspawn were born. _

And what else?  _ No one can physically walk in the Fade and live _ .

Fucking Samarra and her visions. Why wouldn’t she at least  _ warn _ her about this? After all the ominous warning and the preparations the seeress had been doing she found it very hard to believe that it ‘slipped’ the Oracle’s mind to tell her that she was going to enter the bloody Fade.

Now she was stuck with nine people, all in various stages of disbelief and panic. Only one of them seemed positively  _ enthralled _ by their current location, and it just so happened to be the Inquisition’s resident Fade expert… who was partially responsible for them being here in the first place.

It had been going fairly well, or so she’d thought. They’d been chasing after Clarel and the prick Erimond, with a dragon on their tale, and then… things had gone so very badly wrong and then they were  _ falling _ , and she was so sure she was going to  _ die _ when the elven mage had grabbed her hand and stuck the Anchor out in front of them, and then there had been a blinding flash of light, and… a whole lot of green.

And he’d had the gall to tell everyone that  _ she’d _ been the one who had opened the rift. Jackass.

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t a jackass. They  _ were _ still alive, after all.

The elven mage was happily conversing with Dorian, who looked less than impressed. “I never thought I would find myself here physically! Look! The Black City, almost close enough to touch!”

She shook her head. “This must be very exciting for you, Solas. Any advice you have on what’s exactly going on would be  _ wonderful _ .” She knew she sounded acerbic and sarcastic, but surely given the circumstances her lack of diplomacy could be forgiven.

He… entirely ignored her. “What spirit commands this place?” he mused aloud. “I have never seen anywhere like it.”

Garrett spoke up, his voice rumbling. “This isn’t how I remember the Fade, either. Perhaps it’s because we’re here physically instead of just dreaming?”

Was it her imagination or did Solas just shoot the male mage a look of derision? She blinked, and he looked his calm self again. Okay, this place was really just making her see things. It was  _ really _ freaky.

Warden Alistair spoke up, curious. “The stories say you walked out of the Fade in Haven. Was it like this?”

She shrugged. “I have no idea. Still can’t remember what happened the last time I did this.”

“All I can say is, the first time I entered the Fade, it looked like a lovely castle filled with gold and silks,” Dorian was his usual self. “I met a marvelous desire demon, as I recall. We chatted and ate grapes before he attempted to possess me.”

She stifled a laugh as Varric took a cautious step away from the Tevinter mage.

“Well, whatever happened at Adamant, we cannot assume we are safe now,” Cassandra, ever the voice of pragmatism, spoke up.

“Yes. That huge demon was right on the other side of the rift Erimond was using. There could be others.” Marian was practical, and sounded slightly bored. Helena had to wonder as to the kind of life the woman had lead before the Inquisition - it had to be tremendous, for this to be a mere triviality.

“Well,” Blackwall rumbled. “It’s a good thing Cole, Sera and Iron Bull aren’t with us. Don’t think they’d be too happy to be here.”

Helena groaned when it hit her.  _ That _ was why Samarra had advised her not to take any of the three along with her! “Great. So Samarra knew about this. Would’ve been nice to get some warning.”

“Perhaps the reason the seeress did not tell you about this venture was because it was important to you in some way?” Solas suggested. “If it were detrimental to you, she would have mentioned something.”

“Yes,” Dorian agreed. “Look at it this way - she didn’t warn us about this, so, clearly, we’re all going to make it out of here just fine.”

“But how are we going to get out of here?” Varric finally spoke up.

“In the real world, the rift with the demons was nearby, in the main hall. Can we get out the same way?” Stroud suggested.

They all looked at each other for a moment. “Solas?” she asked.

“It is certainly possible,” he said. “Does your mark not function here in the Fade?”

She looked at her hand, which had a faint, barely-there green hue. “I don’t think so,” she said ruefully.

The elven mage walked over and examined her hand. “Yes,” he agreed, his lips turned downwards. “It appears as though opening the rift has used up the energy stored in the mark. We could wait for it to recharge, but I suspect that would take a good amount of time, which we do not have. The rift is our best chance, then.”

“It certainly beats waiting around for demons to find us,” Dorian quipped.

“There it is!” Alistair exclaimed, pointing at an eerily glowing green vortex in the ‘sky’. “Let’s go!”

They pressed ahead, each lost in their own thoughts. Everyone was particularly jumpy, tensing at every small sound they heard. She looked around, trying not to shudder at the flickering lights an the shadows, the rocks oozing slime, tried not to think about the way her feet  _ squelched _ as she walked over the solid-looking ground...

“So, can one of you mages tell me this,” she said, trying to start a conversation, “is the Fade always this… creepy and sinister?”

“No,” Solas said immediately. “If I were to walk the Fade in person, I would not choose this part of the Fade. The demon that controls this area is extremely powerful. Some variety of fear, I would guess.”

“Great,” she said sarcastically. “Just what we need.”

“Do you have any advice for us, Chuckles?” Varric asked.

“I suggest you remain wary of its manipulations, and prepare for what is certain to be a fascinating experience.”

“You have a strange idea of what fascinating is, elf,” Marian muttered.

“To physically walk in the Fade? What else can it be?” he replied calmly.

“It’s not a frigging stroll!” Marian exclaimed. “Shut it, or things will find us!”

A weary sigh from the elven apostate. “Calm yourself. Hostile emotions only draw the demons more quickly.”

“Well, that’s just grand,” Varric muttered. “First we fight demons, then we fight demons, and now, what do we have? More demons!”

“We should keep moving,” Cassandra urged.

The landscape was dark and dreary, and they walked over ground that did not quite feel like ground, waded into pools of water that turned out to be rotting slime. The walls dripped strange fluids of varied colors, and she had absolutely no interest in finding out what they were. There was a hazy scent of decay, enough for them to be aware of it but not strong enough for it to be cloying and overwhelming. The atmosphere was sheer, undiluted fear, and it set everyone’s teeth on edge. They jumped at every shifting shadow, huddled together for protection. Only Solas seemed calm, leading the way with the tip of his orb gleaming in the reduced light of the Fade.

Just when things seemed to be looking up, they ran into… the Divine.

That wasn't an illusion. She blinked, once, twice, even rubbed her eyes to make sure, but her eyes were right. Divine Justinia was standing in front of them, in the… well,  _ flesh _ didn’t seem the right word for it.

But she was certainly there, and she looked like she’d been  _ expecting _ them.

Helena wasn’t sure what was worse, seeing a supposedly dead woman alive, or the fact that the supposedly dead woman  _ had been waiting for them _ .

“I greet you, Wardens,” the Divine said. “And you, Champions.”

She was flabbergasted. “From the little I do remember of what happened at the Conclave…” she trailed off. “I thought you were dead?” It was meant as a statement, but it came out as a question instead.

The Divine was all mysterious. Something about them thinking her survival impossible but they were doing the same thing? The woman did have a point, though. They were in the middle of the impossible feat of walking physically in the Fade.

The Divine addressed her. “You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor.” she stated.

“The real Divine would not know I had been appointed as Inquisitor,” she said suspiciously. The Divine smiled enigmatically. “The memories you have lost were taken by the demon that serves Corypheus,” she commented, ignoring Helena’s statement. She started pacing. “It is the nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work.”

Stroud bristled in fury. “I would gladly avenge the insult this nightmare dealt my brethren,” he swore.

“You will have your chance, brave Warden. This place of darkness is its lair.”

“Can you help us get out of the Fade?” Cassandra asked hesitantly.

“That is why I found you,” the Divine replied. “When you entered the Fade at Haven,” she said, turning to face Helena, “the demon took a part of you. Before you do anything else, you must recover them.”

She pointed. “These are your memories, Inquisitor.” A flash of light, and several wraiths appeared, flittering about the rocky, eerie, slimy landscape.

Her first thought was not  _ I can finally remember what happened! _ but  _ do I have to? _ Fighting demons in the Fade didn’t seem particularly… wise. Regardless, they fought the wisps, each of them shattering into a memory that rushed into her mind. When she had regained the last of them, it became too overwhelming for her and she doubled over, the lost memories locking into their places in the spaces of her mind.

To her surprise, her memories began playing out… in front of all of them. It was as though she was projecting her mind into the area around her.

They all watched the Divine being held against her will by Grey Warden mages, as Corypheus approached her with the orb in hand, clearly intent on sacrificing her in his quest to unlock it. The Divine cried out helplessly, and she sorrowed at the sight of the old woman’s pain and terror.

She watched herself fling the doors open. “What’s going on here?” Distracting Corypheus, who looked at her. They saw the Divine use the distraction to knock the orb away from his hand, watched as the orb rolled towards her. Helena’s throat tightened as she watched herself pick up the orb, watched herself cry out in pain as the orb fused with her hand, as the magic in it pushed its way through her skin and into her.

Watched as Corypheus rushed at her, utterly furious.

As the orb exploded with a force, knocking him backwards.

And then it all faded away.

Everyone shook their heads, as though clearing away cobwebs - all except her. She was staring at her hand, at the quietly pulsing mark on her hand.

“This was a mistake,” she said quietly. “I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Or the right place at the right time,” Cassandra argued. “Perhaps no one could have saved the Divine. But you have the mark Corypheus so desperately wanted. You prevented him from ripping open the Veil, from bringing damnation upon us all.”

“Well, at least you know that your mark didn’t come from Andraste,” Marian piped up.

She shrugged. “I always did say I wasn’t the Herald of Andraste. I guess this proves it.”

“You cannot escape the lair of the nightmare until you recover all that it took from you. You have recovered some of yourself, but now it knows you are here. You must make haste,” the Divine warned. “I will prepare the way ahead.”

The Divine vanished, and that was when it occurred to them that the ‘woman’ wasn’t the real Divine, but a spirit. The mages seemed to find it straightforward, but Cassandra - and surprisingly, Varric - seemed to struggle with the knowledge a little bit. Helena could see Cassandra was quite shaken - she had no doubt the Seeker was probably beating herself up over failing to protect the Divine adequately.

Then the Wardens and the Hawkes got into an argument over the involvement of the Grey Wardens in the Divine’s death, and it just added to the headache that she already had. “Would the lot of you kindly shut the fuck up!” she yelled. “We can argue about this once we’re out of this Maker forsaken place!”

There was silence for several minutes. Then Varric spoke up. “So, about that demon she mentioned…”

“It is a fear demon, as I suspected, likely feeding on fears related to the Blight,” Solas sounded as though he were giving a lecture. “Fear is a very old, very strong feeling. It predates love, pride, compassion… every emotion save perhaps desire,” he added as an afterthought.

Helena was getting  _ real fucking tired _ of fighting her way through demons. This shit wasn’t enjoyable in the waking world, as Solas called it, and it sure as the Void wasn’t fun here. In fact, it was  _ worse _ here. This was  _ their _ territory. She was at a disadvantage here, and it seemed as though the bloody demons knew it!

“Ah, we have a visitor,” a voice boomed out. It was sly, cunning and malicious, and Helena felt a shiver run up her spine. “Some foolish little girl comes to steal the fear I kindly lifted from her shoulders.”

Everyone turned towards her to see how she would react, but she just raised her head high and kept moving on.

“You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, forgotten,” it warned, the voice slithering up her limbs. She gave herself a shake, pushing the unpleasant sensation away.

“You think that pain will make you stronger? What fool filled your mind with such drivel?” it taunted, snickering. “The only one who grows stronger from your fears is  **me** . But you are a guest here, in my home, so by all means, let me return what you have forgotten.”

“Well, fuck you too asshole,” she muttered.

More demons. More ‘fearlings,’ as Solas called them, each taking the shape of someone she knew and cared for. She sliced her way through them, ignoring their pleas for her to not hurt them, their begging, ignoring them telling her they loved her, why was she doing this, didn’t she care about them, didn’t she love them.

When they were done, she was trembling like a leaf. Marian noticed, and pushed her way to her and enveloped her in a hug. “What did you see?” she asked quietly.

“Family. Friends. People I cared for, pleading with me not to kill them. You?” she asked.

“Pretty much the same. That bastard demon’s going down for this shit.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Perhaps  _ I _ should be afraid,” the nightmare resumed its taunting, “facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition.” It let out a mocking laugh.

“Wait, you mean you weren’t already afraid?” Garrett mocked it in return. “In that case, yeah, I’d say now’s a good time to start pissing your fucking pants!”

She gave him a little cheer.

“Like Blackwall,” the nightmare continued as though Garrett hadn’t spoken at all. “Ah, there’s nothing like a Grey Warden, and you are  _ nothing _ like a Grey Warden.”

“I’ll show you a Warden’s strength, beast,” Blackwall muttered, but Helena wondered why that statement shook him up so much.

“Greetings, Dorian,” it shifted its focus. “It  _ is _ Dorian, isn’t it? For a moment, I mistook you for your father.”

“Rather uncalled for,” Dorian replied, trying to sound cheery, but his face had fallen.

“Your Inquisitor is a fraud, Cassandra,” it jibed. “Yet more evidence there is no Maker, that all your ‘faith’ has been for naught.”

“Die in the Void, demon,” Cassandra enunciated each word with a venom that was entirely unexpected. Helena found her way to the Seeker’s side and gave her arm a comforting press, which the Seeker returned with a shaky smile.

They took down more demons, getting closer and closer to the rift that was to be their escape. The closer they got to it, though, the more the nightmare taunted them, preying on their fears, shaking their confidence, eating away their composure.

The atmosphere didn’t help, either. Rocky and barren, desolate save for the demons, the craggy walls oozing out blood and other foul-smelling fluids. Wisps bearing memories of long--forgotten horrors reached out and brushed against them, making them  _ remember _ something that needed to remain unforgotten, nameless fears and terrors, sinister vines of dread slithering up through their armor, winding up their bare skin, creeping ever upwards, leaving gooseflesh and a sense of violation behind that they were hard-pressed to ignore. The group veered between complete and utter silence where the only sound the  _ drip drip drip _ of liquids and the distant roar of demons, to panicked chattering that lead to harsh arguments that were a hair’s breath away from turning violent.

They trudged every onwards, at times only through their combined faith in the woman who awaited them on the other side. It was not much, yet it seemed to be enough to keep them moving, to keep them from falling victim to the despair that lingered maliciously over all their heads.

“Once again the Hawkes are in danger because of you, Varric. You found the red lyrium. You brought the Hawkes here.”

“Just keep talking, Smiley,” Varric mumbled, and Marian and Garrett went over to him, squeezing his shoulders  and whispering something quietly to him. It worked to reassure him, though, and for that she was glad.

“Did the king’s bastard think he could prove himself? It’s far too late for that. Your whole life, you’ve left everything to more capable hands. The Archdemon, the throne of Ferelden. Who will you hide behind now?”

“Is that all its got?” Alistair scoffed. “I’ve heard worse from Morrigan.”

She couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped from her lips, and Alistair turned to her, a wry smile on his lips. “It’s true,” he said with a shrug.

“Warden Stroud.”  _ Did the bloody thing not stop talking _ , she wondered. “How must it feel to devote your whole life to the Warden, only to watch them fall? Or worse, to know that you were responsible for their destruction? When the next Blight comes, will they curse your name?”

“With the Maker’s blessing,” Stroud vowed, “We will end this wretched beast.”

“Did you think you mattered, Garrett? Did you think anything you did mattered? You couldn’t even protect the mages. And what of you, Marian? You couldn’t save your city. How could you expect to strike down a god? Your friends are going to die, just like your family, and everyone you ever cared about.”

The Hawke twins shared a look. “Well, that’s going to grow tiresome quickly,” Marian muttered.

“I’m going to enjoy killing that thing,” Garrett hissed.

“ _ Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena ash’din.” _

Helena had no idea what any of that meant, only that it  _ clearly _ affected the elven apostate. His jaw clenched, and his eyes blazed with fury. But when he spoke, his voice was calm.

“ _ Banal nadas.” _

“What was that about?” she asked him curiously. “What did it mean?”

Solas only smiled carelessly. “It spoke of errors I made a long time ago… it is nothing. It will not shake me.”

“Tell me, Inquisitor, will you fail the Inquisition as badly as you failed the Templar Order? You were supposed to keep the peace, yet you did nothing to stop the war. What will happen when your friends discover you are so very useless? Will Cullen stay by your side when he knows the kind of failure you are?”

“Okay, ouch, that hurt. There’s no need to be so rude,” she muttered. Cassandra gave her a sympathetic pat on the back, and Solas nodded at her reassuringly. That…  _ thing _ … wouldn’t sway her. Her friends believed in her.

Samarra believed in her.

They ran into the Divine again, and recovered yet more memories from the wraiths who skittered around mockingly, the sound of the nightmare demon’s gleefully malevolent chuckles echoing in the air, like nails running down a chalkboard.

She saw herself  _ inside _ the Breach at Haven, climbing up a steep wall, fearlings chasing hungrily after her. At the edge of the rift was the Divine…  _ alive _ … holding out her hand, offering help. She watched as the Helena in the memory clambered up desperately, and took the Divine’s hand. They ran towards the rift, fleeing the demons so close on their tail… and saw the Divine let out a scream, being pulled back by a fear demon. She watched herself struggle to free the Divine, watched helplessly as resignation washed over the elderly woman’s face. Heard the urgently whispered, “Go!”

And watched herself abandon the Divine to make her own escape.

_ Maker help me _ , was all she could think as she stared into space. _ I abandoned the Divine. I caused her death. _

“I killed you,” she said softly, self-loathing in her voice.

“You saved yourself, and in doing so, Thedas itself,” the spirit of Divine Justinia - or just a spirit, she hardly knew - corrected her.

“I’m sorry,” she said helplessly, tears welling up in her eyes. “I should have done more. I should have fought harder. I’m so sorry.”

“Do not blame yourself for that which was not under your control,” the spirit consoled. “There was nothing you could have done. But you are doing so much more in the waking world. That is what is important.”

Again, there was an argument over the actions of the Grey Wardens, only this time it wasn’t limited to the Wardens and the Hawkes. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on the matter, and frankly, she had no idea why they were so bloody insistent on discussing the subject as though they were on a fucking picnic. Helena was tired, she ached everywhere, she was covered in blood and ichor and other things she did not want to know about but smelled really bad, and she really, really,  _ really _ just wanted to get out of this place.

And so she ripped into the Hawkes and the Wardens.

It didn’t help that the nightmare had found them. It sent waves of fearlings at them, and she gritted her teeth and did what needed to be done - as she had been every fucking day from the time she found herself in Haven’s dungeons. Not because she wanted to. Not because she enjoyed it. Because she had no other choice, because she was the only one who  _ could _ do anything about it, because  _ if she failed the whole world fell _ .

And the bloody thing _still_ hadn’t stopped talking. “Do you think you can fight me?” the nightmare jeered. “I am your every fear come to life! I am the veiled hand of Corypheus himself! The demon army you fear? **I** command it. They are bound all through me!”

This time, Justinia’s spirit spoke up, and she managed to enrage the demon where none of them had. They all laughed at the roar of fury it gave. In a last-ditch attempt to faze them, the demon shrouded their path in mist. When it finally lifted, they found themselves in a cemetery

She found herself thoroughly disturbed, her stomach recoiling, as she read the gravestones that were scattered about, marking shallow graves where half-decomposed bodies lay, staring back at them through mouldy, unseeing eyes, flesh sliding off bones, maggots feeding on entrails. The stench of rot and decomposition was ripe in the air, and it took a great deal of effort to not bend over and empty the contents of her stomach.

_ Sera - The Nothing _

_ Cole - Despair _

_ Cassandra - Helplessness _

“Are these… are these...?” she began in disbelief.

“Our biggest fears? Yes,” Solas said grimly.

She continued reading, unable to stop herself, unable to keep her eyes averted from the bodies of her companions who seemed to gaze up at her with accusing looks, as though she had failed them, as though it was her who had lead to their deaths. _ You killed us _ , they seemed to say.  _ You killed us all. Traitor. Betrayer. You failed us. _ She ignored the twist in the pit of her stomach, the tense coiling of a thick rope of fear, and focused on what the gravestones said instead.

_ Blackwall - Himself _

_ Varric - Becoming His Parents _

_ Iron Bull - Madness _

_ Dorian - Temptation _

_ Vivienne - Irrelevance _

_ Garrett - Bloodlust _

_ Marian - Losing A Loved One _

_ Alistair - Failing At Duty _

_ Stroud - Turning Into A Traitor _

_ Solas - Dying Alone _

She wandered over to where a black grave marker was tucked away in a corner. This time, she  _ did _ heave, as she caught sight of her rotting body, worms slithering out of a blackened, decaying heart, leaving trails of gelatinous slime as they moved around. Her entrails began to swell slowly, getting larger and larger till it finally  _ popped _ with a sickening squelch, spewing out a foul-smelling ooze.

_ Helena - Incompetence _

She noticed Solas standing in front of another marker, a speculative look on his face. She made her way over to him, wondering what it was that had caught his interest.

It was Samarra’s gravestone. There was no body in the grave, for which she was thankful; but judging from the scorch marks left in the earth, she suspected the elf had something to do with it.

_ Samarra - Apathy _

She frowned. “Well, that doesn’t seem likely,” she said. “None of these do.”

“The demon wishes to unnerve us,” he said calmly. “It does so by preying on our deepest fears.”

“Come on,” she muttered. “Let’s get out of here. No point in staying behind and taking in the scene, we aren’t tourists.”

The spirit found them, and guided them onto the right path, the glow emanating from it lighting their way, and its presence serving to comfort them. Soon, they reached a large clearing, and hope swelled in their breasts. The rift lay ahead of them, a short distance away.

“You must get through the rift, Inquisitor!” the spirit said urgently. “Get through and then slam it closed with all your strength! That will banish the army of demons - and exile this cursed creature to the farthest reaches of the Fade.”

“The rift!” Alistair exclaimed. “We’re almost there!”

They stopped short at the sight that awaited them.

A massive fear demon blocked their path, six arms, six legs and a face that would haunt her for  _ at least _ a month.

But that wasn’t their biggest concern.

Their biggest concern was what was  _ behind _ the fear demon.

The Nightmare.

She’d never seen a demon like this; she’d never, in her wildest imagination, even  _ thought _ that something like this existed. For a split second her beleagured mind wondered if this creature was what mages faced off against when they underwent their Harrowing. The demon was the size of the guardhouse at Skyhold, with a height to match. It vaguely resembled a spider, with its numerous spike-covered appendages, each one a veritable weapon into itself.  The twitching, hungry, jaws that held several rows of very sharp teeth did nothing to reassure her. This creature clearly brought death with it.

It was also positively  _ covered _ in eyes.

The hundreds of eyes were all pointed in their direction, and she could hear Marian gagging behind her. Helena didn’t blame the rogue. She rather felt like joining her herself.

_ How the fuck are we going to get by those damned creatures? _ she wondered. It seemed next to impossible. She couldn’t find a way out; there was no way they could get around it.

Everyone looked at each other, concerned. Together, they might be able to take out the fear demon and then the nightmare, but they could not fight both at once, and they knew it. They were already so tired from fighting demons throughout their path, They were almost out of healing potions, the mages were clearly tottering on the verge of a mana imbalance, and it wasn’t like lyrium was scattered about for them to use. They couldn’t just  _ will _ themselves better, not only were they not Dreamers, but they were  _ physically  _ in the Fade, which changed all the rules, apparently. Or so the elven apostate claimed.

Bottom line was… they were  _ fucked _ . Beyond fucked, really. Helena was torn between a desire to angrily rant, and to sink to her knees and sob in dismay. After everything they’d been through - after everything  _ she’d _ been through - this was what was going to end her. A fucking monstrous spider demon.

_ This is fucking bullshit! _

The Divine’s spirit moved towards her, and handed her a vial filled with a blood-red liquid. “This belongs to your seeress,” she said calmly. “You will know when she should take it.” Then the spirit floated ahead of them, towards the nightmare. “If you would, please tell Leliana, ‘I am sorry. I failed you too’.” With that final cryptic statement, the spirit crackled with energy, glowing brighter and brighter, until with a blinding flash, it sacrificed itself to take down the nightmare .

She had no time to mourn, no time to think about the fact that the Divine had just sacrificed herself a  _ second _ time for  _ her _ benefit. There were demons to battle, and a rift to escape from. There was a battle on the other side of the rift. There were people who depended on her outside that rift. She had a world to save yet. Thoughts and guilt could come later.  _ Later _ .

It was a hard fought battle, given how they were all already exhausted from all their previous fights, and they were at the end of their stamina. But the knowledge that they were so close to their exit allowed them to draw from their deepest reserves, and soon, they had vanquished the fear demon.

But before they could rejoice, before they could make their way out, the unthinkable happened.

Spider-like feet dropped over their heads, and she could see the eyes leering at her, unblinking.

The Nightmare.

They were forced backwards, and they all watched helplessly as the demon towered over them, their exit so tantalizingly close. She didn’t notice the others exchanging looks, didn’t see them nodding grimly.

Cassandra spoke up. “Inquisitor. We will battle the demon. You must make your way out of the rift and close it, once you reach the other side.”

She stared at the Seeker as though the woman were crazy. “Are you insane?” she yelled. “I’m not leaving the lot of you here to  _ die _ ! Not after everything!”

“Inquisitor,” Alistair said calmly, “You are the most important of all of us. It is imperative that you survive and return to Adamant. You are needed there.”

“We’re  _ all _ needed there,” she argued. “Someone already sacrificed their life the first time I entered the Fade. I’m not letting that happen again. No way.”

Solas spoke up suddenly. “Everyone needs to move towards the rift. Samarra warned me this would happen. I can create a diversion.”

She spun towards him, fury and fear on her face. “Solas, I will not let you risk your life. Weren’t you paying attention to what I was saying?”

“I will not risk my life. You have my word on that,” he assured her. “Give me some time to make my escape. I will join you, and you can close the rift.”

She hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not to listen to him. Finally, she put her trust in Samarra, and the determination in his eyes, and nodded. “Well, you heard the man. Let’s get going!”

Alistair and Marian began to argue.

“MOVE!” she bellowed.

As they inched closer to the rift, she could hear the elven mage saying something in his native tongue. The further they moved away from him, her perception shifted. She felt as though Solas was  _ growing _ somehow, as though he were becoming bigger. There was a roar, the ground shook, and a series of explosions could be heard in the distance. None of them dared to look backwards, and soon she was hurling herself at the rift, the others closely behind her.

She was breathless and aching all over, and suddenly she was enveloped by warm, welcoming hands, a familiar voice whispering words of concern and love into her ear. She didn’t have time to enjoy it, though, more concerned with the man who was yet to exit.

After a brief argument with Cullen - really, the man was  _ so stubborn _ sometimes - she ordered her forces to defend the rift. She had a moment to share a look with Samarra, puzzling over the dark, nasty-looking bruises on the redhead’s face. Yet another matter she could ponder later.

Finally,  _ finally _ , the stupid mage made it out, completely battered, falling straight into Blackwall’s arms. She immediately closed the rift, cheers emanating from all corners of Adamant. Then the remaining Wardens - the ones who had, apparently, come to their senses at the last goddamned moment and had helped the Inquisition forces - asked her what they needed to do next. Asked  _ her _ . When there were two freaking senior Wardens next to her. She looked towards Samarra for guidance, and the redhead’s nod only confirmed her gut feeling. She invited the Wardens to join the Inquisition, well aware that they would be needed should another Blight arise in the future.

She was aware her decision wasn’t popular with several of her companions but at the moment, she could not give a shit. She was  _ way _ too tired. She beat a hasty retreat to the healer’s ten, wanting something to take the ache out of her muscles.

She very much suspected the ache in her mind would take longer to heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a love-hate relationship with Here Lies The Abyss. I love the Fade, and how creepy and desolate and eerie it is, but I feel like they could have done more. Especially with the whole tombstones thing. If you're going to learn your companion's greatest fears, I feel like there needs to be something more to it. The first time I played the game, I didn't understand the reasoning behind some of the fears [Varric's and Sera's especially] and I'm still a little hazy as to why Sera's fear is The Nothing. And as far as Varric is concerned, you need to know more about the lore to understand why he fears becoming his parents. Why does Vivienne fear irrelevance? Yeah, having power got her her current position of privilege and status, but like... what does she fear will happen if it's all taken away from her? I wish we got more out of that.
> 
> I feel like Samarra and Varric could share the same fear; Samarra would most certainly not want to become like her parents. But mostly because of their attitude to others, and so that's what she fears the most; inheriting that same attitude of indifference to the plight of others. I've been thinking of writing a short drabble[s] about Samarra pre-Thedas; would anyone be interested in that?


	77. Emotions Are Stirred More Quickly Than Intelligence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions are messy things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly [currently going through some health-related issues, so bear with me!]
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

None of her friends who had entered the Fade spoke to her on their way back from Adamant. She could kind of understand it; they most likely felt betrayed she hadn’t warned them, but it also saddened her to know that they didn’t have any faith in her. She’d worked so hard to get them more powerful weapons, better armor, had practically made a deal with the devil himself to make sure they came out of it alive. But because she couldn’t - and wouldn’t - tell them about all she had done, they assumed that she had some kind of ulterior motive.

Vivienne was crowing it up, she could tell. The First Enchanter hadn’t left Helena’s side at all, constantly talking to her in a quiet voice that couldn’t be overheard. She’d felt Madame de Fer’s glances at her once or twice, but had stoically ignored them, pulling her face into a neutral mask even though she felt like crying inside. Cole, poor cinnamon bun, was agitated because he thought she was sad, and he wasn’t able to do anything about it.

Finally, Solas pulled up next to her. She didn’t know what he wanted. Hadn’t she already made that… that insane promise? Even though most of her was apprehensive, she couldn’t deny that part of her was… lit with anticipation. Even if she tried, she couldn’t forget how  _ well _ they fit together…

“They think you betrayed them by omitting to inform them of their ordeal in the Fade,” he spoke quietly.

“I know,” she said.

“The First Enchanter is doing her best to try and convince the Inquisitor that you had ill intentions,” he continued.

“I know that too,” she replied.

“She is not very successful. All she has managed to do is convince the Inquisitor you had her best interests at heart.”

“I know that… wait, what?” she turned to him, flabbergasted. He gave her a patient smile.

“The Inquisitor, no matter how angry she is with you, is also rather fond of you. By attacking your character, Lady Vivienne has forced Helena to defend you, and in doing so, she has convinced herself that there was a method to your actions.”

“Oh. Huh.”

“The others will reach the same conclusion in their own time,” he added.

“And you?” she asked, looking straight ahead. “You entered the Fade too.”

“It was not the area of the Fade I would have personally chosen to physically explore, nevertheless I cannot deny it was a fascinating experience. Furthermore, unlike the others, I had some warning.”

“How lovely for you,” she snarked.

“Was it worth it?” he asked, genuinely curious. “They will not all thank you, nor will they understand how much you did for them.”

“They’re alive,” she shrugged. “That’s what’s most important. I’d think you’d feel the same way.”

“Perhaps,” he acknowledged. “How are you feeling?”

She knew she looked quite the frightful sight, with a black eye and purple bruises covering her face and neck. The magebane had left her system, but she was still feeling tired and weak. Anders assured her it was a common side effect of the poison, and that she would feel herself again in a day or two. Till then he’d advised her to refrain from using magic, or risk causing a severe mana imbalance. And she didn’t want to bother the healers with minor injuries like hers, especially when there were soldiers who needed their attention more.

Solas also looked exhausted. He’d told her how he defeated the demon, drinking several vials of lyrium, and then creating explosions in the rocks behind where the nightmare was, causing them to collapse and fall onto the creature. He’d been weakened from the effort, but had still had to fight his way through demons to exit the rift. As a result, when he fell out of the rift he was in the throes of a mana imbalance, and Anders had given him stern instructions to take it easy for a day or two, which Solas hadn’t contested.

She wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. She’d seen the size of the Nightmare, and… that was one spider that looked like it  _ wouldn’t _ get crushed under a rock. But she couldn’t argue with how exhausted, worn and battered he was when he’d exited the rift, so maybe there was some truth to what he said?

“I’m fine,” she said with a shrug.

“Your healers did well,” he said. “How many did we lose?”

Her face fell. “Over fifty. Cullen tells me the number would have been tripled had we not been there, but… if I hadn’t gotten myself poisoned, maybe we’d have been able to save more.”

“You did all you could,” he said softly. “The scouts talk about how you refused to sit quietly, even when poisoned. You fought, even though you had reason not to. That is commendable, Samarra. Think of all the lives you helped save, instead of the lives that were lost.”

She sighed. “I suppose so. Those men and women… they had families, you know? People who cared about them, who loved them. And now they’re gone, and their families are short one person. It doesn’t seem fair.”

“Life is never fair. You should know this.”

“I do. I just wish it weren’t the case.”

 

* * *

“We need to talk,” Helena said brusquely as they made camp in Griffon Wing Keep that had been newly-taken over. She looked up from her journal to find the Inquisitor, the Hawkes, and Alistair crowding around her, and her heart sunk a little. Were they going to yell at her, berate her for not warning them?

_ You’re in the right. Don’t back down. Things could have gone worse, much worse if you did tell them. _

_ I know, but you know, from their point of view… _

_ Screw their point of view! Did any of them bargain with the Dread Wolf? No! You saved their lives! And now they want to bitch and moan about it? _

_ Maybe they think I should have accompanied them? _

_ To what end? You had a job to do, and you did it. You should start getting more firm with them. Don’t let them push you around! _

_ Let’s just hear them out, shall we? Without jumping to conclusions? We’re not at the Olympics here, there’s no need for a metaphorical high jump. _

_ Oh wow, you’re so funny you broke my funny bone. _

_ Jerk. _

“Sure,” she said pleasantly, closing her journal and getting to her feet. They walked away from the camp, aware of the curious glances directed their way, and made their way to one of the battlement walls that overlooked the silent sands. Samarra gazed at the sky, filled with stars, and couldn’t help but smile at how beautiful they were. After the horrors of the previous few days, everything seemed more prettier.

“You told Solas that were were going to the Fade.” Helena stated evenly. “When?”

Solas interjected. “I believe you recall the day Samarra had a breakdown in the war room, Inquisitor. That was when I began to suspect something serious was to happen. She would not talk to me about it, only asking for my help when the time came. A few days before we were to leave for Adamant, she approached me, describing the situation as best as she could. I did not get many details; only that you would enter the Fade, there would be something blocking the exit, and that there was need for a distraction.”

“What he said,” she replied with a smile, noting wryly he’d left out the bargain they’d struck.

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?” Helena said softly, hurt. “Maybe we could have avoided it.”

She shook her head. “No. It was vital that you entered the Fade, Helena; it was the only way you could recover your lost memories. I would have told you were it otherwise, believe me. I knew all that you faced, and yet, I could no nothing; it was  _ necessary _ .”

The Inquisitor looked thoughtful. “You still could have given me something,” she said. She still sounded hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me that the others would die? I could have done something…”

“Helena,” she said quietly, “I was afraid. If I had told you what was to come, the moment you entered the Fade, you would have started looking for opportunities for it. You might have overthought the situation, and might not have chosen to use the rift as an exit, even though it was necessary. I couldn’t risk it. I went to Solas because I knew he had the most knowledge of the Fade out of everyone, and it was why I wanted you to include him in your party. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you, but I honestly, genuinely believe things would have been worse if I had. I’m really sorry you had to go through all that. If there was a way out of it, I would have searched high and low for it, believe me.”

“I believe you,” Helena said quietly. “I’ll admit, I was angry when we first entered the Fade, angry when Solas asked to stay behind, saying you had confided in him. It felt like you didn’t trust me. But then I got to talking to Vivienne, and she tried her hardest to paint you as a villain, but it didn’t fit. If you really wanted the worst for us, you wouldn’t have travelled to Kirkwall, and gotten those schematics, and asked Dagna to make new weapons and armor for us. You wouldn’t have accompanied us as a healer, wouldn’t have recruited Widris and Anders. You wouldn’t have asked Solas for help. It struck me then; you’ve been working just as hard as everyone else, but no one sees you doing so. We just don’t understand what you’ve done till after the event is over.”

“And you’ve seen, for weeks, everything we just did,” Garrett added quietly. “You haven’t been trained for any of this. It just baffles me… how are you not batshit crazy?”

“That,” Solas drawled, “is precisely what I intend to find out.” He gave her a piercing look.

She forced out a laugh. “I just have faith, I guess,” she said, shrugging. “Faith in all of you. Faith that no matter how bad things get, we’ll find a way out.”

“I’d like some of that faith then,” Alistair chuckled. “I’ll admit, there were moments in the Fade I feared I wouldn’t make it out alive.”

“I wouldn’t have allowed it,” she said with a smile.

“I can believe that,” he said, a warm smile on his face, a matching warmth in his eyes.

Solas cleared his throat. “We were concerned about you,” he said, a hard look in his eyes.

“Concerned about me?” she parroted, baffled.

Helena pulled her into a hug, and Marian joined in from the other side. “Yes, you ass. You’re always so cool and calm about everything, and you have such… terrible things in your head, and you have to live with them everyday, and… I love you, you idiot, and I care about you.”

That… triggered an emotional switch in her, and tears started falling from her eyes. “I love you too, you ass,” Samarra mumbled into the brunette’s hair.

Marian broke the silence. “I don’t know about the lot of you, but I’m going to get shitfaced the moment we return to Skyhold.”

“Sounds like a plan,” her brother agreed.

“Count me in,” Alistair said with a sigh.

She grinned weakly at them over Helena’s head. “I’ll be there, too.”

“Hey, if everyone’s going, I’m in. I’ll drag Varric along, too. That dwarf’s taken way too much of my money.” Helena chuckled.

She looked around at everyone. “So you guys aren’t mad at me? You don’t hate me?”

Helena huffed. “I  _ just _ said I loved you!”

She poked Helena. “You know what I mean.”

“No,” Alistair said with a smile. “Of course we don’t hate you! Why would we? If anything, we should be grateful to you. You did just save our lives.”

“It wasn’t me,” she mumbled. “Solas did the work.”

“But if you hadn’t seen it, you wouldn’t have known what to do. I might not have had Solas in my team… dammit, woman, just take the compliment,” Helena mock-glared at her.

Garrett thumped her on her back. “I owe you a drink, Crimson.”

“I thought that was Varric’s name for me,” she teased.

“Yeah, well, his nicknames tend to stick around. I’m Waffles. She’s Flipper.”

“Okay, I  _ definitely _ need to know the story behind that.”

“Over drinks,” Marian - wait, no, ‘Flipper’ - promised.

She laughed. “You’re on.”  
  


* * *

  
There were exultant cries as they rode in through the barbican, with a large throng of people welcoming them back. Civilians rushed towards Helena, trying to touch her arm, her foot, whatever part of her was exposed, asking for her blessing, for her favor. It seemed almost most surreal, and Samarra found it both fascinating and horrifying. Fascinating, because it was interesting to see the level of faith and belief the people had in the Herald of Andraste, and horrifying… for pretty much the same reasons.

Blind faith was a dangerous thing, yet she couldn’t fault the people for believing Helena to be some kind of miracle worker. What the Inquisitor had accomplished was no mean feat. And yet, as much as Helena had done, as much as she had worked - and the brunette had worked  _ a great deal _ \- Samarra recognized, where the others didn’t, that she could not have done it on her own. It was help from her advisors, from her Inner Circle, from the soldiers, the scouts - everyone had a small part to play in the Inquisition’s victories. She was very much relieved that Helena wasn’t the sort to let the praise and adulation go to her head. As a matter of fact the Inquisitor detested the extravagant displays of worship, instead opting to praise the people who had played a part in the victory.

But there was no telling what would happen in the future. What was it Solas had said?  _ It started with a war. War breeds fear. Fear breeds a desire for simplicity. Good and evil. Right and wrong. Chains of command. After the war ended, generals became respected leaders, then kings, and finally gods. _ It had applied to the Evanuris. It applied to Corypheus, in a way, did it not? Magister betrayed by the god he devoutly believed in, now looking to gain that same godhood for himself. It could also, potentially, apply to the Inquisition, regardless of the decisions made during the Exalted Council. Whatever happened to the Inquisition, the Inquisitor and her advisors would always be recognized and respected, as would the Inner Circle…

... _ As would the Inner Circle _ . Was that how Solas would gain so many followers? Because the elves, in a way, associated him with the Inquisition, and believed he would do the right thing, just as the Inquisition had done? Or would he convince them that the Inquisition had lost its way, and that he was their best hope for the future? Certainly he had no means of recruiting people to his cause at this time. Maybe that was why he disappeared after Corypheus’ defeat. Not just because his orb was lost - although that was definitely a large part of it - but because he needed to gain people to his cause? The elves that would eventually infiltrate the Inquisition had to come from somewhere…

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice Alistair ride along beside her. “Is it always like this?” he asked with a smile.

“Hmmm?” she gave him an absentminded smile. “Sorry, my mind was someplace else. What did you say?”

“Not another vision, I hope,” he said with a frown.

“No, just thinking about how much worshipping is going on here.”

“That’s what I was asking. Is it always like this?”

She laughed. “Not this bad usually. I suppose word’s gotten around that the Inquisitor has saved the legendary Grey Wardens from the clutches of the evil darkspawn magister.”

“Shouldn’t it be the Inquisitor  _ defeated _ the Grey Wardens?” he said, his lips thinned out in a grim look.

She reached out and placed a hand on his arm. “Helena isn’t like that, Alistair,” she said quietly, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “She knows what happened, and she doesn’t blame the Wardens. Well, not too much, anyway. She  _ does _ blame Clarel, however. Clarel should have known better.”

He sighed. “I can’t argue with that. So you’re sure that the Warden won’t be treated terribly by the Inquisition soldiers?”

“No, neither Cullen nor Helena will stand for that. If you notice anything, tell me. I won’t stand for it, either.” she said with a cheeky grin.

“That’s certainly a comfort,” he chuckled. They dismounted at the stables where Dennet was waiting for them; Alistair was ever the gallant gentleman, and helped her dismount. She nuzzled Isaline for several moments, before walking over to join him.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat as they walked up the stairs to the middle bailey, “Stroud wants us to leave in a day or two for Weisshaupt.”

“Why?” she asked, knowing very well the answer.

“He wants to warn the Wardens there about Corypheus, maybe stop them from falling prey as the Orlesian Wardens did.”

“Oh,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” he seemed uncomfortable. “He wants me to go with him.”

A vision came to her then, of Alistair, and Aedan, of Redcliffe Castle, a frightened Anora and angry Ferelden nobles. The scene was slightly blurred, but there was a feeling of certainty that surrounded it. She knew, without a doubt, that Alistair  _ could not _ travel to Weisshaupt.

She returned to the moment to find Alistair’s arms around her, and she blushed bright red. When he saw her face, he flushed lightly too. Setting her carefully right, he apologized. “You had this look in your eye, and you stumbled, and you were going to fall,” he explained.

“It’s a good thing you caught me,” she laughed, “there’s no need to add more bruises to the ones I have already, right?”

He laughed. “I take it you had a vision, then?” he smiled.

“Of sorts,” she admitted. “It was… about you, actually,” she said, her blush becoming deeper.

“About me?” he looked  _ very _ interested.

“Yes,” she whispered.  _ His eyes are so pretty. I could keep looking into them forever… _

It seemed he felt the same. “What was it about?” he asked in a low voice, taking a step towards her.

“I… I can’t tell you everything,” she couldn’t seem to take her eyes away from him. “But… you can’t go to Weisshaupt. I need you… I mean, you’re needed here. With the Inquisition. In Skyhold.”

He smiled then, a slow, wide smile that nearly stopped her heart. “If the seeress says I should stay… “ he took her hand in his and placed a light kiss on her palm, which instantly began burning, “then I have no choice but to obey.” She made an unintelligible sound, too flustered to say anything. With that same smile on his face, he let go of her hand and wished her a good day, before turning away to leave for the chamber he’d been allocated in the fortress. She pressed her hands to her burning cheeks, hoping to cool them off before she faced anyone else.

It was too late, though. Solas stood on the stairs, his face neutral. When her eyes met his, however, she found herself shivering at the iciness in them. With a quick shake of her head, she tore her gaze from his and hurried away to her room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adamant, for me, was surprisingly quite emotional. After Origins, I was really pro-Warden, and to watch as Clarel slit the throat of a Warden... I legit wanted to smack some sense into her. I felt so... _betrayed!_ It's hard not to take it personally, especially after knowing the ordeals that the Hero of Ferelden went through to save Ferelden [and all of Thedas, really] from the Blight. To find the Wardens dabbling in blood magic... which, okay, yes, was an option in Origins, but trusting a magistrate from Tevinter? And Clarel would've known about Corypheus! Why didn't she listen to the protest of Stroud/Alistair? [especially Alistair - I mean, HE DEFEATED THE ARCHDEMON, he's a great Warden, his voice should not only be heard but respected!!]
> 
> Rant over.... but I really do hope the Wardens are redeemed in DA4. And I hope there's a cure for the Calling! I don't want Alibear and my Warden to fall to it :(
> 
> Thank you for reading! It really keeps me going, especially with all the issues RL has thrown my way :)


	78. Friends Make The Heart Warmer And Stronger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even heroes need some downtime. Maybe _especially_ heroes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *

“ _Sera_ wants to see me?” she asked the confused runner. “You’re sure? You’re sure it was Sera?”

“Yes, my lady. The blond elf woman, who lives over the tavern.”

“She wants to see me in her room?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Did she say why?”

“No, my lady,” he replied, now thoroughly flustered.

Samarra dismissed him with her thanks, pretty confused herself. Sera, she knew, did not like her. Or trust her. So it seemed rather… strange… that the elf wanted to meet her now.

It was quite suspicious, really. Maybe Sera had some frogs, or snails, or bugs waiting to ambush her with?

_You’ll never find out if you don’t go._

_Maybe I_ _don’t_ _want to go. I still haven’t quite recovered from the ice-water-on-the-face-in-the-middle-of-the-night prank she played. Or the beetles. Or the one where she tried to slip earthworms into my bathwater…_

_Ugh, I remember that one. That was_ _not_ _pleasant._

_Yes! Thank you! I’m staying away from her._

_But she wants you to meet her in_ _her_ _room. She’s not going to do anything to her room. She’s pretty protective and careful about her things._

_That’s… kind of true. But maybe the stairs or something are rigged._

_Maybe. But I still think you should go._

_Well why don’t_ _you_ _go then, Miss I-give-everyone-a-chance?_

_Was that supposed to be a joke? Seriously?_

_No, it wasn’t supposed to be… look, if you want to go, you can go, but I’m not going to go!_

_I am you! So if I say I want to go, you’re the one who’s going to have to go!_

_Hah, get your own body._

_Don’t make me hum Cotton Eyed Joe!_

_DAMMIT! Now it’s in my head!_

_Are you going to go?_

_Yeah! Anything to get this stupid song out of my goddamn head!_

She walked over to the tavern, keeping a wary eye out for anything out of the ordinary as she climbed the stairs. To her surprise, Sera’s room pretty much resembled the in-game room almost exactly, even down to the barrel outside her room on the corner. The door was open, and she could see into the bright, cheerful sunny room filled with bright, cheery fabrics, much like the girl herself.

“You came! That’s a surprise. Or not. Guess you saw something in that head of yours, right?”

Samarra sighed. “Sera, I came because you said you wanted to talk to me. I admit I almost didn’t come. I suspected a trap of some sort.”

The blond elf had the grace to look slightly abashed. “Yeah... s’what I wanted to talk to you about. You wanna come in?”

“Sure.” she entered the archer’s room and took a seat by the window. She watched as Sera paced up and down nervously, and that startled her. She’d only ever seen the elf this jumpy around demons, or strange magic.

“It’s like this, yeah?” Sera finally burst out. “When I met you back at Sir Poncy-No-Breeches’ fancy old house and Inky told gave that whole ‘see into the future’ shite, I figured there’s no way that’s gotta be real, right? Came down to Haven, and there I was thinking a redhead with pretty tits, just a big con artist. I’ve seen plenty of the kind, claiming all sorts of bollocks. So I pegged you in with them. And I figure, well, if I show Inky that she’s a fraud, well, I’m good and set, right? Get a couple of favors from her, set things right. But it always bugged me, y’know? Like, how’d you know I was a Red Jenny? ‘Cause I sure as shite didn’t tell you. But I figure, you got a spymaster here, and she must’ve dug up the good stuff on me.

And, y’know, ‘round Haven, didn’t see you do much other than working in the infirmary. Word was, you were dead good at your job, ‘n you did it damn well. But I saw crap-all when it came to the whole seeress thing, yeah? I even went through your stuff tryin’ to find something to prove I was right. All you had were a buncha books in strange languages. That ain’t no proof.

Then Coryphyshit hits Haven, and I’m really mad, ‘cause then it kinda becomes clear that hey, you’ve known about that shite and you did nothing. Came close to putting an arrow in your back, I’ll tell ya that. But again, things didn’t add up. You got the folks outta there before they could get hurt. And you sent us outta there, too. You stayed behind to cover our asses, ‘n you didn’t even have to. But you did. And then you got the people with you outta there safely, too. And everyone knows that Inky wouldn’t have made it back to camp if you hadn’t helped. We get to here, ‘n you act like you own the bloody place, Raised my hackles right up, but makes sense, yeah? All of them people injured at Haven, you fix them right up. You tell Inky where to go. Fallow Mire? She’s there, ‘n she’s warning us about this and that, and hey, guess what? Turns out she learned it from you.

I was fucking pissed when Inky took me to the Mire, I’ll tell ya. Shitty place that stunk like nothing else. Creepy as fuck undead, too. And that damn abomination? I don’t agree with Lady Fancypants, but I sure did with that one. Seemed to me like you’d gone off your rocker. Then Inky tells her something you told her to, and she ain’t an abomination no more, she’s a damn kitten. Again, Crestwood and the creepy caves? I was right pissed off. Then I heard ‘bout how you helped the elves. You’re always real nice, to everyone. Even the cooks got nothing really bad to say ‘bout you. That gets me suspicious, see? Ain’t no one that good in this world. So when I hear that you told Inky not to take me with her at Adamant, I’m thinking, yeah, you got a bone to pick with me. And I was gonna let you have it. Came close, too. Figured I’d show you up by being damn good, then when we got back, I’d lay into you, right? Tell you off like shite. And what happens? Inky goes into the Fade. Into the fucking Fade. And tells me _that_ was why you didn’t want me to tag along, ‘cause you know… I’m not good with that kinda stuff.”

“Is there a point to this, Sera,” she asked quietly, hopefully.

“Yeah. See, I always thought you were weird and freaky. Like, you’re magic, and… magic’s creepy, right? But you like arrows, like me. And you use your weird magic thing to help people. All people. I figured… I figured I got you pegged wrong, and I thought… I thought maybe we could start new, y’know? Like… pretend all those things never happened?”

“You mean all the pranks you played on me?” she asked wryly.

“Yeah, them,” Sera replied with a brilliant smile.

She smiled back in return. “I think… I think I’d really like that, Sera. Hey, maybe later, you and me can play some pranks on the people around here, what do you say?”

Sera guffawed. “Knew you had a bit of fun in you! You say when, and I’ll be there.”

“So, uhhh. Now what?”

“Don’t know how your lot do it, but where I’m from, you hug it out.”

And that was precisely what they did.

* * *

The group sat around the table in the tavern, closed for the night except for their little exclusive party. Cabot had retired for the night, and Flissa was on duty - Samarra had been successful in persuading the barkeep to help out Cabot, but more importantly, start her own brewery. Which she had, in a tiny little hut that the Chargers had build for her, and she had to admit, the woman was really a genius when it came to alcohol.

Still, there were times she had the slightest twinges of guilt over the fact that she’d taken Flissa away from her Chantry wish. _Then_ she’d remember that Flissa really had enjoyed operating the Singing Maiden, and her guilt was usually mollified by the fact.

“So, anyone who _isn’t_ Varric got any good stories?” Marian drawled, taking a generous swig of her ale. It was mostly just the Inquisitor and the Inner Circle tonight; the advisors were absent, as were Solas and Vivienne. And, judging by how red Sera’s face was, the blond elf would soon be out of commission too.

“I got one,” Bull boomed out. “So, me and my men were hired by this crotchety old guy to take out his nephew and his wife. Turns out, the nephew had seduced the man’s wife, and had run away with her. So, anyway, we sneak into the mansion, and I break into the main bedroom, right? The nephew pisses his pants at the sight of me, I’m talking like a kid with no bladder control here, and he’s on his knees, pleading for his life. And then he says, if you spare me, you can have her, pointing to the old man’s wife.

She, of course, is enraged, but bargains with me, saying if I kill the nephew and the old man, she’ll pay me triple of what I’m making. Now, that sounds like a damn sweet prospect to me, but I got no proof she’s good for the money, right? Anyway, as the nephew’s listening to us talk, he tries to jump out of the window and escape, only he forgot his window had a pond under it, and he couldn’t swim. Drowned like a rat before any of my people could get to him.”

“And what happened to the wife?” Varric asked, fascinated.

“We ended up having a good time in the bed, if you know what I mean,” Bull chortled. “‘Course, she ruined it by trying to stab me , so I grabbed her and flung her away… and straight out of the window the nephew had exited out of. Turns out she couldn’t swim, either. Then the crotchety old guy tried to have me arrested for murdering his wife, only the guards discovered she’d drowned, and hadn’t been stabbed, so that went to pot for him. We ended up having to hunt the old man down, and man, did we shake him down. Made eight times what he’d promised us on that job, _and_ we got a pretty badass reputation, too. Lots of job offers after that one.”

Varric was noting everything down with interest. “Hey, you don’t mind if I use that in a book, do you?” he asked.

“Go ahead. Just, like, give me credit in the acknowledgements or something. And make me sound real good, will you? Like… like a force of nature.”

“You mean like when you visit the bathroom?” Krem wryly declared, and they all burst of laughing. He was the only one from the Chargers who joined them that evening, the rest having gotten themselves too drunk to do anything but sleep it off.

“Why you gotta be like that, Krem de la creme,” Bull asked, mock-hurt.

“Been saving that one up, have you? Krem retorted.

“Yeah. Wanna hear the rest?” Bull happily asked.

“Maybe later,” Dorian interjected.

“What about you guys?” she said lazily, turning towards Garrett and Marian. “Surely between the two of you you must have some really juicy ones. And you still haven’t told me why Varric calls you Waffles and Flipper.”

“Well,” Garrett said, laughing, “mine’s not so glamorous, really. There was this one time we ended up in Kirkwall’s Darktown, hunting down some bandits. If you’ve ever been to Darktown, you’ll know the place is filthy as fuck. It’s basically a group of people living in the sewers, and in the caves hewn into the rock. So we were chasing them down a particularly filthy sewer - I swear to the Maker the stench nearly singed off my eyebrows - and caught them, which, of course, meant a fight. So at the end of it…”

“We’re covered in blood, filth, muck, and shit, when Mister SuperStomach over here stops on our way out of the damn place, pauses thoughtfully, and declares, ‘I’m hungry’, as though we weren’t in the world’s most stinkiest place.” Marian continued.

“And he did it too,” Varric chortled. “Stopped by the Hanged Man, and I’m telling you - Crimson, you’ve been to that place, you know how it is - but we smell so bad the crowds part for us. Waffles here goes straight up to the barkeep, and asks for a meal. So the fellow brings him out a bowl of stew, which is pretty much the only halfway decent thing you get at the place. You should’ve seen the look on his face though. He looked like a kicked puppy. He raises these teary eyes to the man, and asks, in this woebegone voice, ‘don’t you have any waffles?’ Confused the shit outta everyone there.”

“And that’s how the name was born,” Garrett concluded. “I still say it was the damn fumes from those sewers.”

“Yeah, yeah, you keep telling yourself that, pretty boy,” Varric teased.

“It’s true!” Waffles argued hotly.

“What about Flipper?” Samarra asked when she’d stopped laughing.

“Do we have to talk about that?” Marian groaned.

“Hey, we did Waffles, it’s only fair you do Flipper,” Garrett grinned.

“Fine, but I can’t say do. You tell it.” Marian said with a resigned sigh.

“Can do. So, anyway, we have a friend, Sebastian - you probably know him now as the Prince of Starkhaven, but back then, he was just this slightly annoying devout Chantry boy. Anyway, he’s a damn fine archer, right? And one day, he and Marian were sparring - Maker, she loved to tease him with those damn contests - and she has this move, this signature flip that she does, where she can somersault and flip herself to _behind_ an enemy, and take them out that way, right? So Sebastian was wondering if he could do something like that…”

“ It's called a Leaping Shot, stupid,” Sera slurred.

“Right. Well, he wanted to see if he could incorporate that particular trick into his repertoire, and she was teaching him that one afternoon. So she demonstrates the move, using him as a target, only it goes terribly wrong - I suspect she did it on purpose -”

“I did not!” Marian exclaimed hotly, blushing.

“Anyway, she tries to do it, fails miserably, and what do you know, she falls straight onto him, bringing him down…” Garrett broke off laughing.

“And when me and Waffles walked in, we see Flipper here straddling choir boy, and let me tell you, neither of them looked like they were in any particular rush to get themselves out of that position,” Varric cackled. “Soon as she sees us, though, she’s off him like he was fire. He’s beet red, she’s stammering out something, but all we could make out was ‘The flip. The flip!’ And so Flipper was born.”

“Guess it worked out well,” she nudged Marian with her elbow. “What with you being engaged to him and all.” It only served to make the woman blush more.

The night went on, everyone sharing stories. Alistair shared one where Isabela tried to persuade Aedan, him and Zevran into bed with her - at the same time - and it caused the Hawkes and Varric to laugh uncontrollably. Which, of course, had lead to Varric sharing with the rest about how Isabela had tried to hook up with Samarra during their journey to Kirkwall, which had made them laugh even more. She shared a warm look of understanding with Alistair, both of them having experienced firsthand just how magnetic and persuasive the woman could be.

When she left the tavern, she was more than a little drunk. Alistair wasn’t much better, but he offered to escort her to her room, to which she agreed. They walked along, arms linked, each supporting the other, bursting into the rotunda with matching soppy, foolish grins.

“Hellooooo, Solas!” she sang out cheerfully, half-slurred, as she spotted the elf sitting up on his scaffold, carefully painting a scene on the mural he was creating. He turned towards her, eyes darkening as he caught sight of the man on her arm - and, conversely, whose arm she was on. “‘Kay, bye Solas!” she called out, as Alistair began dragging her up the stairs, mumbling about being tired and wanting to sleep. They stumbled into her room, pulling off their boots without any finesse whatsoever, and tumbling straight into bed. Samarra shut the door to keep the light from the hall from disturbing them, forgetting to lock it as she usually did. She fell asleep quickly, the drink having muddled her mind quite a bit.

When Solas, his frustrated curiosity and only-barely-controlled rage frothing, came to check on them, he found them passed out quite peacefully, the Theirin bastard sprawled out on his back and snoring gently, Samarra curled up by his side, his arm resting loosely on her hip. He shut the door quietly on them, but his hands were clenched as he walked back down to the rotunda.

If Samarra were awake, she would have known to be wary.

* * *

She woke up with a drowsy yawn, stretching luxuriously. She froze when her hand met warm flesh that _wasn’t_ her own.

_Fuck. Oh fuck. What happened? What happened last night?_

_Let’s see… you were at the tavern, drinking and playing Wicked Grace with your friends, and then you got drunk, and Alistair offered to walk you back to your room, and you said yes…_

_Oh no. Oh my sweet Lord, please tell me I did not have sex with Alistair._

_What’s the big deal? He’s cute._

_Have you forgotten about the promise I made a certain ancient elven god?_

_That didn’t include_ _not_ _sleeping with other people, though._

_No, but he’s going to be_ _pissed_ _and THAT’S never a good thing. What if he takes it out on Alistair?_

_Oooh, good point._

_Okay, okay, let’s be calm here, there’s no need to panic yet. I still have my clothes on, that’s a good sign, right?_

_Oh, definitely._

She raised her head and peeked over at where Alistair was still snoring away. To her relief, he was fully-dressed, too.

_Thank heavens. I don’t think we did anything, I think we just passed out together. Hopefully, if Solas didn’t see us…_

_…. Didn’t you wave to him as you walked to your room last night, though?_

She wrinkled her forehead as she tried to remember, gasping as vague memories came crashing down on her. It _was_ true. She _had_ greeted Solas! With Alistair holding her! And he’d ended up in her room! All night!

_Okay, stop freaking out here. Just… act calm, and normal, and natural. There’s nothing to freak out here about. Nothing happened. And even if it did, it’s not like you’re with Solas or anything, right? I mean, sure, he’s really possessive of you, and can get pretty jealous, but really, the two of you aren’t a couple, so it’s not like he can get mad or anything. Well, he can get mad, but like, he has no right to._

_Yeah, you know what? You’re right? Why am I freaking out over this anyway? All I did was pass out with Alistair, who’s a sweetheart anyway. I didn’t do anything. And there’s nothing between Solas and me… other than the two times we’ve had sex… and the times he keeps kissing me… and…_

_Okay, stop it. Remember. You and Solas?_ **_Not_ ** _a couple. Not like you guys are some exclusive couple! There’s barely anything between the two of you, for crying out loud! Ergo, no need to freak out, and if_ _he_ _freaks out, we’re just going to stand up to him and tell him off. Right?_

_Right!_

_Good, now let’s get Alistair out of here before everyone else starts gossiping._

She prodded the sleeping man. “Alistair?” she called out, poking him harder when he didn’t respond. She leaned in and shouted into his ear when her patience ran thin. “ **Alistair**!”

“Huh… what?” he shot upright with a grunt. Blinking blearily, he looked around, his eyes widening in shock as he caught sight of her. “Wait… what happened? Did you and me… I mean…. Last night…. Did anything happen?” he stuttered.

“I don’t think so,” she said, equally embarrassed. “I think we just passed out. We’re still fully dressed. You’ve even got your socks on.”

“Thank the Maker,” he said gratefully, then flushed immediately. “Not that I meant… I mean… I’m sure…”

“I get what you mean,” she said with a chuckle, patting his shoulder amicably. “I think it’s best you made your way back to your room, though, yes?”

“Oh, yes, definitely.” If she wasn’t so eager to see him out of her room, she’d have been quite annoyed at the speed with which he leapt out of bed and pulled his boots on. He stood at the door, giving her a rather endearing look. “This won’t… You won’t think too badly of me after this, will you?” he asked hopefully.

“Of course not,” she assured him. “We just got drunk, and passed out. I’m sure it happens all the time… I think so, anyway,” she said wrinkling her nose. “But no, don’t worry. We’re still friends.” she said with a smile.

“Good,” he said, returning her smile with that gorgeous one of his. “I would hate to not be friends with you, Samarra.” With that, he slipped quietly out of the door, shutting it carefully behind him.

_Sweet talker_ , she thought, with a smile. He really was adorable. And so different from Solas…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I headcanon that Sera loves to hug people and I'm sticking with that! Seeing as I don't quite remember how Waffles and Flipper came to be, I made up my own. Go along with it, 'kay? :D Also: Cotton-eyed Joe is freaking stuck in my head. Google it at your own risk!
> 
> I've been stuck in the Arbor Wilds with this story for agessssssss and writer's block is starting to lift. But do I continue this story? Noooooooo that would be my brain making it FAR too easy for me. It's instead decided to fling Krem x Maryden ideas at me... which is what I've been writing about over on Tumblr. I'll get them to AO3 soon. Still, I'm writing again, and that's always a good sign!


	79. The Past And Future Are Often Blurred; Only The Present Is Clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samarra and Helena plan for the future and deal with the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly [but currently dealing with health issues so please bear with me!]
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thoughts.

**POV Samarra**

Helena was staring down at the list with an overwhelmed look on her face, eyes wide in disbelief.

“What do you have there?” she asked cheerily, plonking herself down next to the Inquisitor on the bed.

“A list of things I need to get done before the stupid ball,” she muttered. “I know it’s six months away, but just  _ look at this list _ !”

“Oh, I think I can guess - Josie wants you to patch things up between Celene and Gaspard’s armies in the Exalted Plains to make good with both of them and get us an in into the Winter Palace, some guy called Fairbanks wants to meet you in the Emerald Graves, and people are freaking out over the disappearance of people from Sahrnia in Emprise Du Lion?”

“I keep forgetting you  _ know _ this shit,’ Helena muttered. “But it’s not just that. I have requests from  _ every. single. person.  _ in my inner circle. Cassandra wants to track down the lost Seekers, Dorian wants to hunt down some Venatori, Blackwall wants to know if we can recover some lost Grey Warden memorabilia, Cole is  _ freaking out _ because he thinks he’s going to become bound like the demons at Adamant, Vivienne wants me to hunt down a snowy wyvern - a  _ snowy wyvern _ \- for something she refuses to tell me about. And now Bull’s telling me he’s got word from Seheron about a possible Qunari alliance, which I’m finding really suspicious. Thank  _ Maker _ Varric and Sera don’t have any requests…” Helena looked at Samarra’s face. “Oh sweet Maker, they do, don’t they?” she groaned.

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think it’s time yet for that?” she offered weakly, unable to cover her smile.

“What am I going to  _ do _ , Mara? I can’t do  _ everything _ . And my friends are going to be unhappy if I don’t help them out personally. But everyone says I need to do this, and that and this… and then they give me a deadline. I can’t do it all!”

“You don’t have to, Lena,” she said calmly. “First of, Vivienne’s quest? I know what it’s for. I can take care of it my own way, if you want. Just tell her that you’re more than happy to offer my services to her.”

“I mean… that would help, not going to lie, but you  _ hate _ the First Enchanter…” Helena stated.

“Yeah, but I love  _ you _ , so I’ll do it for you,” she replied with a smile. “Besides, I think it’s something I might be able to help with, as a healer.”

“Now you’ve got me curious. She mentioned the heart was for some potion, but what kind of potion is it? And for whom?”

“Not my secret, Lena, can’t tell you.”

“You and your stupid morals,” Helena grumbled, but she had a smile on her face.

“Okay, so there’s the thing. Exalted Plains, Emerald Graves, Emprise Du Lion - you can’t afford to skip them. I’ll tell you more about the stuff you’ll come across in the war room, but, like… you’ll be needed there, no way around it. As far as the other quests are concerned, can’t you ask Leliana to ask her scouts to keep an eye out for Blackwall’s Warden stuff? I mean, they’re already collecting those weird shards anyway. Oh, and it’s  _ really, really _ important that you hunt down the lost Seekers, so do it. You might want to be with Cassandra for that… and I do, too. Ummm, let’s see. Venatori, ask Dorian about their location, and get Cullen to send out some of the mixed military units to hunt them down - the Venatori will have mages in their group and you’ll need a couple of mages to counteract them.”

“Anything else?” Helena asked, busy making notes on the sheet of paper.

“Talk to Solas about what can be done for Cole, he’ll have a better idea.”

“Done. What do you think about this Qunari alliance?” the Inquisitor inquired.

“I think,” she said carefully, “that it’s important for Bull. He’ll make a decision that will drastically change his life, and it’s important you are there. They’ll ask some kind of strange request of you, but really, the whole thing’s a test for Bull.”

“I take it you don’t approve of the alliance?” Helena asked wryly.

“No,” she said seriously. “The Qunari, the ones from Seheron and Par Vollen, I do not trust. They are too indoctrinated into the Qun, too used to seeing people as  _ things _ and not individuals for me to ever trust them. Bull, on the other hand, has a chance to make a choice for himself, for the first time. It’s important that he does.”

“Sounds like serious business.”

“It’s… suffice to say that it’s very delicate. If it goes the way I hope it will, Bull will become one of your most trusted allies. If it goes the other way… I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Mara,” Helena grabbed her shoulders. “This other choice. Will it put us at risk?”

“Lena, I can’t tell you yet, because nothing’s happened. If it changes, if he becomes a threat, you know I’ll tell you right away. All I can say is, if Bull turns to you for help… sometimes the family we make is more important than the family we’re born with.”

“You didn’t have to tell me that, I already know it,” Helena said with a soft smile. “I got you, don’t I?”

“And I have you, silly woman.” she replied with a smile.

“Well, that certainly help. I’ll likely have to call a war room meeting soon, but thanks to your help, this shit has just become a lot more manageable.”

“Oh, one more thing. Tell Cullen he’ll want to track Samson down. Samson’s got this armor that makes him near-invincible, and we  _ must _ find a way to shatter it if we are to defeat him.”

“Where do we even start for that?” Helena mused.

“Emerald Graves. There are caravans smuggling red lyrium there. If we can intercept them, we might get some clues.”

“I’ll talk to Cullen about it,” Helena promised.

“Give me a day or two. I’ll need to do a bit of research myself, but I’ll see if I can come up with anything.”

“Sounds good, Mara.”

 

* * *

**POV Helena**

“Let me get this straight. You want me to sit on that throne over there, as though I were Queen, and pass judgement?” she asked in disbelief.

“Not just judgement,” Josephine explained calmly. “You will also settle disputes and claims, offer advice where it is needed.”

“But I’m not a queen.”

“No, but you are the Inquisitor.” the ambassador said, as though it explained everything.

“Josie, you know I love you, but this is ridiculous. I mean, who exactly am I going to be judging anyway? And what gives me the right to deliver judgements?”

“You will judge those who have done wrong. You will know  _ of _ them, at the very least. All this presumes they have survived their initial encounter with you, of course. As for your other concern, the Inquisition’s sovereignity is derived from the allies who validate it. You are both empowered  _ and _ bound.” the Antivan responded diplomatically.

“But I don’t want to be!” she protested.

“You have little choice in the matter, I’m afraid,” Josephine said apologetically. “Already Ferelden wishes you to judge the magister Alexius. King Aedan’s reasoning is that you were the one who stopped his devious plot, therefore it is your right to pass judgement for his crimes. And may I admit, I agree with his reasoning entirely.”

“Josie, I don’t think I’m wise enough to do this! Besides, I kill enough people as it is, do I really need more blood on my hands?”

“Judgement does not only include execution. Justice has many tools. If their application is clever, even execution may seem merciful.” the diplomat replied.

“Maker’s balls, Josie. For the record, I don’t think I like this at all.”

“Someone has to act as a judge,” Josephine explained calmly. “Someone is required to foster belief in the people that order will be maintained, that justice will be served. It cannot be anyone but you; the people trust you, and have faith in you. Whatever you decide, they will abide by it. No other person has that kind of influence.”

She sighed. “I suppose you’re right. So, when does this whole thing start, anyway?”

“Take the throne. When you are ready, we will bring them before you.” Josephine said, before walking away.

Her protests fell on deaf ears.  _ Well, if I have to do this, I’m not going to do this alone. _ She headed into the rotunda, where she knew she would find the redhead she was seeking. And she did find Samarra there, curled up on the sofa with a book, as was her norm.  _ Really, does she ever get tired of reading? _ she wondered with a smile. “Mara,” she called out. “I need your help.”

Samarra placed the bookmark gently between the pages and shut the book, keeping it aside. “Sure. What’s up?”

“It’s Josie. She, ahhh, well, she wants me to, ahh… there’s this throne, and there are some people I’m supposed to judge…”

“She wants you to sit in judgement?” Samarra asked with an amused smile.

“Yeah. Only… look, let’s face it, I don’t think I’m qualified to make decisions on my own. What if they turn out to be shitty? So I need your advice.”

Samarra frowned. “Lena, I can’t be seen advising you. That would make you appear weak and indecisive.”

_ Dammit. The redhead had a point _ . “Well, then at least would you come and stand by me? For, like, moral support of something? I’ll give you veto powers. If you think I’m fucking up badly, then you have the right to step in and be all merciful if you want to be.”

“Can’t say that isn’t appealing,” the redhead laughed. “I’m fine with giving you moral support, Lena. But you know, I have faith that you’ll make the right call. You’ve done it so far,” she replied with a supportive smile.

A warm glow spread out in her chest. Whenever she spoke to Mara, she always felt more confident, more prepared, ready to face anything. The redhead gave her hope and faith and strength, something she wasn’t used to receiving. Her family had always been… rather negative. Even now, they had barely contacted her other than trying to see if they could find a way to leverage her position to gain favors and power for themselves; something she had had Josephine and Leliana shut right down. It had brought her massive disapproval from her parents, but she didn’t care. For the first time in her life, she felt like she’d found her  _ true _ family. Cullen cared deeply about her, she knew that. As did Samarra. Between the two of them, and the camaraderie she had with most of her inner circle, she barely felt the loss of family.

“That means a lot, Mara,” she said gratefully. “So you’ll be there?”

“Of course,” the redhead replied. “When does it start?”

“... now,” she replied sheepishly.

Samarra chuckled. “I guess we better get the Inquisitor to her throne, then,” she teased, and suddenly the prospect of sitting on that massive and imposing throne didn’t seem all that scary. Already there was a crowd gathering in the great hall, the murmurs in the space getting louder. With a deep sigh, she climbed the podium and took a seat on the throne, Samarra standing on her right, her hands folded neatly behind her back. It amused her to note the speculative look the nobles gave the redhead as they sized her up, as they wondered what Samarra’s role in the proceedings was. No doubt they would henceforth try to curry favor with the redhead in an attempt to get closer to her, she thought bitterly. She was so sick of the ridiculous, frippery nobles who were terribly blatant in their attempt to kiss ass.

The sound of the guards and the clink of chains caught her attention, and she narrowed her eyes as she saw Alexius being dragged in towards her.

From her side, Josephine spoke up. “You recall Gereon Alexius, of Tevinter. Ferelden has given him to us as an acknowledgement of your aid.”

_ Damn you, Cousland, _ she thought.  _ Couldn’t you have just dealt with him yourself? _ She really had no desire to be reminded of what the magister had done. She refocused on Josephine’s words. “The formal charges are apostasy, attempted enslavement, and attempted assassination. On your own life, not less.”

She glared at the magister. Even now, he stood before her, sneering as though she were but a speck of dust. A hot rage bubbled up in her chest. Samarra had told her why the man had done what he’d done, but there was no way she could forgive the man for the myriad crimes he’d committed. The blood magic rituals, the senseless killings of his slaves. The horrors he’d inflicted upon the poor, defenceless Tranquil. The fact that he’d indentured the mages, and had planned to make them work as slaves and in the army, even the children. She could sympathize with the fear of a father, of the desperation of a father to save his son, but the man had, without hesitation, sacrificed dozens of lives, and had been willing to sacrifice hundreds more in the attempt to save his son, and that… that she could not forgive. Would not forgive.

Especially since Felix seemed pretty damn healthy to her. She’d seen the young man around the fortress; Samarra had placed him under the mentorship of the creature researchers Minaeve and Helisma, and he seemed to really be enjoying what he was doing with them. Minaeve had even told her that Felix had a quick and sharp mind, and had uncovered numerous discoveries with the samples she regularly brought back from her excursions.

She looked at the man, trying to act authoritative. “These are grave charges,” she said solemnly. “Do you have something to say in your defense?”

“I couldn’t save my son!” the man spat out bitterly. “Do you think my fate matters to me?”

The diplomat spoke up. “Will you offer nothing more in your defense?” she said, a note of sympathy in her voice.

“You’ve won nothing!” he said gravely. “The people you save, the acclaim you’ve gathered - you’ll lost it all in the storm to come. Render your judgement, Inquisitor.”

Helena stared at him, confused. “What do you mean, you couldn’t save your son? Felix is fine. Perfectly healthy. As a matter of fact, he’s been working for the Inquisition for several weeks now. And doing great work, might I add. You can’t use your son as an excuse, Alexius,” she said grimly.

“You lie!” he spat at her.

“It’s true, father,” a quiet voice said from the back. The crowd parted to let Felix through. Alexius gasped when he saw his  _ healthy _ son, and tried to move towards him, but he was bound and shackled and the chains prevented his movement. “Felix,” he croaked out in happiness. “My boy. My dear boy. You are healed. It’s a miracle. A miracle. How did it happen?”

“A miracle indeed, father,” Felix murmured. “You spent so much of your time looking in the wrong places for a chance to help me, you lost your way. Had you but looked in the right direction, all this heedless violence could have been avoided,” the young man said bitterly.

Alexius was quiet for several moments, his eyes drinking in his son's form hungrily. A small sliver of pity unfurled in her stomach, and she tried to push it away. “My fate matters not, Inquisitor,” the magister said at long last, turning his attention back to her. “My son lives. If I die, I die a happy man.”

She watched as Felix moved into the shadows, having caught the sheen of tears on the young man’s face, and a flicker of renewed sympathy lit up in her.

“Gereon Alexius,” she said gravely. “In light of the new knowledge you have of your son, what do you have to say as to your terrible actions at Redcliffe?”

He hung his head. “I am not a good man, Inquisitor,” he confessed. “I have taken many lives in an effort to save my son’s. I know what I did was inexcusable. And yet… I do not wish my son to live with the shame of what his father has done. I plead for mercy, Inquisitor. Grant me mercy, and I will faithfully serve the Inquisition. I swear upon my son’s life that I will do all I can to rectify the heinous errors I have committed, even if it takes the rest of my life.” He gazed at her, not breaking eye contact. “My son lives, your Worship,” he said softly. “Thanks to the Inquisition.”

She gazed back at the man, conflicted. He seemed genuinely remorseful, and genuinely willing to pay for his crimes. She was torn. Her mind screamed at her to execute him, that he was a threat. But her heart told her that the man was remorseful, and would do good.

She came to a decision.

“Gereon Alexius,” she said gravely. “As Inquisitor, I render my judgement. You swore to the mages you would help them. I will have you uphold that promise. Any knowledge, favor, or coin you own will go towards the mages’ future. Furthermore, you will aid, under guard, in the research of all things magical for the Inquisition. Fiona and Leliana will take charge of you.”

“No execution?” he seemed surprised. “Thank you, your Worship. I swear to you I will not let you down.” He hesitated for a moment. “Might I be allowed to spend some time with my son?” he asked quietly.

“If Felix wishes to see you, then I will grant you an hour to spend with your son, under guard,” she said.

“Inquisitor… you have been kinder than I imagined you would be. I will do all I can to aid you in your quest to bring down Corypheus,” Alexius vowed.

“See that you do, Alexius,” she commanded. “Your son and Dorian believe in you. Do not let them down again, or I will execute you myself,” she threatened.

“As your Worship says,” he said, a small, grateful smile on his face. He turned to look at Felix, looking positively giddy with happiness, and then he was taken away by the guards.

“Your Worship?” Felix approached her cautiously. “I… thank you. For your magnanimity. You spared my father’s life, when you need not have. I… I am grateful. I swear my service to you, Inquisitor, in penance of my father’s actions.”

“Felix,” she said, touched. “You are not responsible for your father. You do not have to pay for his misdeeds.”

His jaw trembled for an instant, before he clenched it. “Thank you, Inquisitor,” he said, his voice thick, and walked away.

She turned towards Samarra, looking for some reassurance she had done the right thing. The redhead gave her a warm, reassuring smile, and she felt relieved.

“Are we done?” she asked Josephine.

The ambassador hesitated. “There is the matter of the magister from Adamant,” the Antivan began quietly.

She froze. Adamant had been a shitfest, and one she wasn’t in the mood to revisit anytime soon. “Fuck that,” she said bitterly. “I’ve had enough of magisters for one day. Let the man rot in the prison for a few more days. I’m not dealing with him yet.”

Josephine shifted uncomfortably. “There’s also a senior Grey Warden who turned herself in,” she said slowly. “She was… involved in the blood ritual. She… wants no mercy.”

She stared at the Ambassador. “Josie, I don’t think you understand.  _ **I don’t want to deal with the crap from Adamant yet.** _ If the girl surrendered to us, she’s no threat. Keep her locked up in an airy cell, no need to be harsh on her. Let’s save our efforts for Erimond,” she said bitterly.

The ambassador cleared her throat. “When will your Worship be ready to pass judgement?” she asked carefully.

“Maker’s balls, Josie, when I’m ready!” she hissed. “Now can we please drop it?”

“As you wish,” the Antivan nodded stiffly.

She sighed. Josephine was only doing her duty. “I’m sorry, Josie. Adamant was… horrible. I just… need some time to recover, okay?” she said quietly.

The diplomat’s eyes softened. “Of course, Inquisitor,” she said. “Forgive me for being so overbearing. I should have been more mindful.”

“No harm done, Josie,” she forced a smile. “Now that the crowd’s disappeared, I guess this is a good time as any to leave, right?” She rose from her throne, passing Samarra, who gave her a concerned look. “Just… give me some time, okay?” she said softly so that only the redhead would hear. Samarra nodded, but she knew the Oracle was staring at her as she entered the door that lead to her chambers.

Once she was in the privacy of her room, she finally let loose and wept for all that she’d seen, from Haven to Adamant. She felt so alone, the weight of the world pressing down on her shoulders, she felt so lost and forlorn.

And then, suddenly, she was not. Warm, soft, gentle hands wrapped around her, and she was pulled into a tight embrace. “It’s okay, Lena,” she heard Samarra murmur softly as she was cradled in the redhead's arms. “It’s okay, let it out. Let it all out. I’m here, Lena. I’m here.”

She cried harder, but her heart didn’t seem quite so heavy any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of personal stuff first: I apologize for being irregular with posting. If you don't already know, I suffer from depression and I'm on medication for it. While medication has helped me regain energy, it has also sapped my creativity. I'm in the process of working with my doctor to try out a new medication that will hopefully work better for me. As you can imagine, writing when I have no ideas is extremely difficult, and I haven't been able to do any proper writing for months now. I've been slowly trying to get back into the game with drabbles, but even those tend to come and go. Please be patient with me! It is my full intention to complete this story :)
> 
> Okay, personal stuff over.
> 
> As much as I understand the need for the Inner Circle quests [kinda?] I can't help feeling that they're... rather silly? I mean, the focus is hunting down Venatori and Red Templars and tracking down Corypheus and stopping him, so why would the Inquisitor take time out of their very busy schedule to go hunting for a snowy wyvern? [Also, Vivienne's kickass - I'm pretty sure she could go wyvern hunting on her own!]. If the inquisitor was a former Templar, I can see how they'd have a personal interest in tracking down the Seekers, but other than that... I dunno. Each time I do the Inner Circle quests [except perhaps Bull's] I'm like... seriously? You guys can't deal with this stuff on your own?
> 
> But then again I guess the Inner Circle quests are better than the freaking Hissing Wastes. I HATE that place.


	80. What One Man Can Invent, Another Can Discover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What secrets does the Wolf's fortress hold?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: I'm shooting for weekly, but given my current health issues it might be off.
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Okay, I just needed to tell you all about the wonderful, amazing art that a lovely, absolutely wonderful reader made for me! [designfailure56](http://designfailure56.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr [hardly a design failure I think! she's amazing!] drew Solas and Samarra on their way to Skyhold. I've updated Chapter 51 with her gorgeous artwork, so please check it out! I absolutely adore it, thank you so much. You definitely kicked up my creativity and motivation up!
> 
> * * *

She wanted a quiet place to think about how much to tell Cullen about Samson. The small, dusty, abandoned, slightly creepy library in the basement seemed a good place for that. The room was quite small, smaller than what the game portrayed, and for a while no one had been allowed in while the structure engineers determined the safety of the room, and the shelves within. It had just been given the clear, and she was eager to be the first one to use it.

Samarra stepped into the room, sneezing at the dust that lingered in the air. For all their tests, surely the workers could have cleaned out the room a bit? Sighing, she cast a quick cleaning spell - Dorian’s speciality, the Tevinter mage was rather obsessed with cleanliness - and by the time she was done, beads of sweat had formed on her forehead. She wiped them off with the back of her hand, and ventured further into the room. The room looked so much better now that it was all cleaned up. She inspected the few books that were remaining on the shelves - the others had been deemed too damaged to be worth saving. All of them seemed to be in ancient elven, and all of them had a faint hum of an enchantment surrounding them.  _ That likely explains why they’re still in such great condition. I wonder if Solas kept them here? Or did he write them? _ She pulled a random book off the shelves, and read the title.  _ Vir’ala’syl’ise’man’thelan _ . Way of the Wielder of the Elements. 

_ Holy crap, this book is about elemental magic! Okay, I so have to read this. I wonder how ancient elven elemental magic is different from the current one. I mean, Solas uses lighting and fire and frost the same way Dorian does… maybe it’s all straightforward then? Or maybe it has something to do with channelling power from the Fade? _

_ Focus, woman. You came here for a different reason, remember? _

_ Oh, right. Damn, but I’m going to spend a lot of time down here. _

_ Or you could just take the books up to your room. It isn’t as though anyone else here can read the language. Other than old wolfy out there, that is. _

_ That’s a good idea. I won’t have to keep coming down here, either. _

But she was distracted, and kept glancing at the books. Several of them were on magic, but the rest seemed to be about ancient elven noble families. There were lists of names, along with the incredibly boring deeds they’d done.  _ Who the hell celebrates the fact that they had their slaves marked? What the hell, Solas? I hope you gave them a good kick up their ass. _

Finally, she turned away from the shelves and rested against the strangely large table in the center of the room. It seemed so out of place there; why was such a large table needed for the room? She tried pushing it, but it didn’t budge.  _ Weird. Why is this damn thing stuck to the floor? I guess it might hold sentimental value… I wonder what, though. _

She placed her palms on the table, pondering over what to do next. She knew already that Corypheus’ general was holed up in the Shrine of Dumat. But she also knew that in the game, getting to the Shrine of Dumat took a lot of effort. There was tracking down the smugglers in the Emerald Graves, then the letters from the quarry in Sahrnia, then talking to Dagna, two war table operations… it seemed like an awful lot of effort. And if she could bypass it all, catch Samson off guard before he could set fire to everything and escape, maybe she could even save Maddox…?

_ But remember, Samson fled with most of his forces, which was why you could take over the Shrine of Dumat so easily. I mean yeah, he sets fire to everything, the dickbag, but can you imagine if you headed into a fully guarded camp with minimal forces? And I doubt Cullen’s going to be able to send many soldiers. Most of them are still recovering from Adamant. _

_ That’s a point. Sending them in right now might not work in our favor. What we should do, is to wait for Helena to dismantle the red lyrium operations in the Emerald Graves and Emprise du Lion. Without a supply of red lyrium, Samson’s armor can’t be maintained very well, can it? _

_ There’s also the red lyrium on the Storm Coast. You’ll have to tell them about it. _

_ Yeah… maybe give them a heads up about Dragon Island too. Don’t want the Visnomer to get hurt. _

_ The best time to hit Samson would be after Helena brings down Florianne. By then, Corypheus would’ve lost his demon army and his chance to plunge Orlais into chaos. If we strike that time, get Dagna the stuff she needs in order to weaken Samson’s armor… it’ll really help us by the time we get to the Arbor Wilds. _

_ Good point. _

One of her fingers idly rubbed over a some kind of tracing on the table.  _ What is that _ ? she wondered. She turned around to face the table, rubbing her fingers over the spot. She watched, incredulous, as a pattern emerged from the wood. It seemed to be a rune of sorts, but a very strange one. She’d never seen it before.

_ This is weird. Why is there a rune here? And what does it do? _

_ It looks strange, all right. Nothing like you’ve seen before. Maybe you should ask Solas… _

_ … I think not. I think he has something to do with it.  _

_ But what does it do?!?! _

She went to the door and shut it quietly, placing a ward over it. Covering herself and the table in a barrier, she pressed her fingers to the rune gently. Nothing happened.

She tried activating the rune like Solas had showed her. Nothing happened.

_ Man, this is a really, really specific rune. It requires some sort of spell, or knowledge, or something to activate it. _

_ Maybe… maybe it isn’t a specific  _ _ spell _ _ that activates it. Maybe it’s a specific  _ _ kind _ _ of magic that activates it. You know, how each mages’ magic has a signature to it? Maybe it doesn’t recognize yours, because it recognizes only a single person’s. _

_ And that single person would be… Solas. Which would mean… whatever this does, is pretty damn special. _

_ I think so, too. _

_ Right, so we have to find a way to activate it. But how? I’m sure my magic is totally different from Solas’. There’s no way this thing will ever recognize my magic. _

_ Unless… _

_ What? You have an idea? _

_ What if you use your marked arm? I mean, those markings have given you some weird ass powers, right? Maybe it’ll unlock this rune. _

_ But the magic that comes from the marked arm would be the same as my other hand, right? _

_ See, that makes logical sense, but you know how nothing makes logical sense when it comes to that left arm of yours? _

_ Okay, I get what you mean. Let’s try it. _

She placed her left hand on the rune, and cast the same activation spell as she had before. Again, nothing.

“Ugh!” she exclaimed in frustration, pulling her hand away. She hissed in pain as a finger caught on a splinter at the edge of the rune, drawing blood. A single drop of blood beaded on the tip of the splinter, and she glared balefully at it as she sucked on her finger.

An idea suddenly struck her. She gathered the blood on the wood shard carefully on her finger, and placed it at the edge of the rune. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then, a small, sudden flash of light, and the drop of blood was  _ sucked _ into the rune, which began to glow very, very faintly.

She inhaled sharply. It had been activated.

She desperately wanted to see what it could do, but she was terrified of doing it alone. Finally, she placed her hand over the rune, whispering the spell that would inactivate it. To her relief, it stopped glowing. It was a measure of relief to know that she could now activate and inactivate it at will.

Leaving the privacy of the room, she slipped through the kitchens making her way outside. She wanted to find Cole; he was the only one she trusted to take along with her, and she knew he would help her.  _ Cole-bun, where are you? _ she called out in her mind.

“You found it,” a quiet voice said from behind her. She was used to his sudden appearance by now, and didn’t jump. “He wondered if you would.”

“Found what?” she asked him. “Do you know what it does?”

“Entrance, exit, leading to sanctuary, solace.”

_ Entrance…. Exit… _ she gasped. “Cole. Are you telling me there’s an  _ eluvian _ at Skyhold?”

“Ancient, forgotten, it sits quietly, looming in the darkness, waiting for its master.”

“Oh my sweet lord. There’s an eluvian in Skyhold, Solas most likely knows about it, and if I don’t get to it before he does, he’ll gain control of it. And that  _ does not _ bode well for the Inquisition.”

Cole nodded sagely; whether it was meant to confirm the existence of the eluvian, or the potential trouble for the Inquisition she did not know.

“Want to come help me, Cole-bun?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

They made their way to the room, using the shortcut through the kitchens. The cooks had kind words and smiles for her, but glanced warily at Cole. He didn’t seem to mind, but she did, and she took the time to introduce him to everyone, so that there were at least  _ some _ people who knew his name.

“You don’t want me to be forgotten,” he murmured as they stepped out of the kitchen. “Thank you.”

 You’re a sweetheart, Cole, if sometimes slightly inappropriate,” she grinned. “I want everyone to know that, too.”

 They entered the small library, and once again she shut the door, warding it this time with multiple wards. They made their way over to the desk, and she activated the rune with a spell.

“Okay, what do I do next,” she murmured. “If I were Solas, and I wanted to make sure this eluvian was never used by anyone other than myself, what would I do? First, I would make sure it would recognize no other magic but mine - sorry about that, Solas - and then… and then… Ummm. Hmmm. And then... I would have a mechanism hidden in plain sight, so clearly obvious it would never strike anyone to look there.” She looked around the room. “So what is this mechanism?”

Her gaze fell upon a book.  _ Era’June. _ June’s Stories. June. He who crafts with joy. June, he who was rumored to have constructed the eluvians. Of course.  _ Of course. _ Hidden in plain sight. With excited, trembling fingers, she pulled out the book, and opened it. It was a thin, slender, nondescript book, nothing remarkable about it at all. She quickly thumbed through it, ignoring the praises it sung of the evanuri. Towards the end, though, there was a phrase that didn’t seem to quite fit.  _ Telir sileal enlean or’vir.  _ ‘Only wisdom lights the path.” she muttered.

_ Only wisdom lights the path _ . The path to what? “ _ Telir sileal enlean or’vir _ ,” she said softly, trying to make sense of it. She jumped back, startled, as the rune hummed quietly. It stopped in a moment, and the table began to sink into the floor. Baffled, she could only stare as it sank completely into the floor, exposing a ladder carefully hewn into the rock on the side. She stared down into the blackness of the newly exposed hidden chamber. With a gulp, she created the light orbs that Dorian had taught her - such a neat trick, she had been so excited to learn it - and let it over in the air, casting some light, as she climbed down the ladder. Cole followed closely behind; the fact that the lad didn’t seem worried or scared reassured her greatly. When she got to the bottom, she gave a casual sweep of her hand, lighting the braziers that still worked even after a thousand years of no use. The room wasn’t big, about three quarters the size of the library above. She could see old, dulled armor, blunt weapons casually discarded in a heap on the side. With a pang, she realized that they likely belonged to Solas, the general of the army of rebels. She walked over to them, picking them up with reverential hands. She wiped away as much of the dust as she could from them, marvelling at how they gleamed, how beautifully it was crafted. There was even a wolf pelt, what had once been white fur was now grey with dust. It seemed almost cruel to leave them like that; so she cast the cleaning spell Solas had taught her all those months ago as they travelled to the Hinterlands. It seemed a miracle in itself as they returned to their original state, beautifully clean, the armor exquisite, the details stunning and gorgeous, the patterns on them breathtaking. She pictured him wearing it, and even the admittedly blurry mental image stole her breath.

He was trouble. He was trouble indeed. He was sneaking his way past her defences, and he didn’t even know it. Which was a good thing, in retrospect. The last thing she needed was him taking the emotional equivalent of a battering ram to her defensive walls.

Not knowing what to do with it, she cast a protective ward on the floor, and, after folding them carefully, placed them gently on it. At least they would be protected now, would not fall prey to dust and grime. She made her way to the large, dull, mirror at the end of the room. It was massive, easily the size of the eluvian Solas made his exit through at the end of Trespasser. Her heart hammered wildly in her chest as she approached it. This was the first eluvian she was seeing in the game. The eluvian that the game hadn’t mentioned was there. The eluvian that Solas used exclusively, and that she had discovered entirely by accident.

She touched the surface with shaky fingers, a little surprised to find that it was cool to the touch, just like an actual mirror. She wondered how to activate it. What was the password Briala had used for her network of eluvians?  _ Fen’harel enasal _ .

“Fen’harel enasal,” she said quietly. The mirror did nothing. Frustrated, she sat in front of it, legs crossed. What could the password be? What had Morrigan said about eluvians? They could either be opened by knowledge, or power. She might not have the kind of knowledge Solas did, but… she remembered what had happened when her blood met the rune.

She had some power. Maybe… maybe she could wrest control of the eluvian from Solas…

It was a daring plan, dangerous, even. It might even lead to her death, especially if - _ when _ \- he came across this eluvian and realized he no longer had access to it. But… but she had to try.

“He won’t hurt you,” Cole murmured into her ear. “He won’t. He likes you.”

Well. That was reassuring.

She took out the small  dagger from her belt slowly. Making a small cut on her finger carefully, she watched the garnet drops pool along the edges of the wound.  _ Here goes nothing _ , she thought. Pressing her bloody finger to the mirror, she waited to see what would happen with bated breath.

At first, it didn’t seem like anything was going to happen. When she pulled her finger away, all that remained was a smear of blood across the surface of the eluvian. There was no flash of light as it activated, no hum of magic, nothing.

She sighed. “ _ Geron esay _ ,” she muttered. At her softly muttered words, the mirror flared up, so bright she had to cover her eyes with her hands. When she looked again, several moments later, the mirror was activated, humming with magic.

“Duh,” she said to herself, laughing quietly. “It needed a pass phrase.” She stared at the mirror hesitantly. Should she take the risk? Should she see where it lead to?

Yes, she decided almost immediately. “Cole-bun, you coming?” she asked. He nodded.

She stepped through the eluvian, shivering at the strange feeling. It was the feeling one got when one touched a Van de Graaf generator, only milder, and it made the hairs at the back of her neck stand up. When she walked out of the other end she found herself in another dark room.

Once again, she swept out her hand, jumping back in alarm as a fireplace roared to life. To her surprise, she found herself in what appeared to be a bedroom. The room was large, larger than the size of Helena’s room, and it was lavishly furnished and artfully decorated.

She could barely breathe.  _ Oh, my god. Oh my god. I’m in Solas’ bedroom. The eluvian leads to his bedroom, in his sanctuary. That’s what Cole meant. Entrance, exit, sanctuary, solace. Solas’ sanctuary, a place he went to for peace and quiet. And now I’m in it. I’m actually in it. _ She let out a little squeal, unable to help the fangirl in her.  _ I wonder if this is the same place the other eluvian leads to? The one he takes at the end of Trespasser? Is there a way to find out? _

“They roam the halls, waiting, watching. Slay the stranger, protect our lord.” Cole murmured.

“Are you saying I shouldn’t go outside this room, Cole-bun?” she whispered. He nodded.

She roamed around the room, taking in the sights. A massive four-poster bed that could easily fit four people dominated the room. In a corner were several bookshelves, all of them filled to capacity with books. She wandered over to them, curious. The books were works of art in themselves, leatherbound, decorated with metal and paint, enchanted to protect them against the ravages of time. There were books on military strategy, several books that seemed like journals that were clearly encrypted, his neat, elegant handwriting filling the pages; there were treatises on magic, on politics, on every subject imaginable, and she yearned to read them all. But there were  _ hundreds _ of books, and she knew, even if she read all day, every day, she might not be able to complete them before she reached the end of her lifespan and… the thought made her sad, so she pushed it out of her mind.

The walls were painted in stunning murals, The wall behind the bed depicted Fen’harel, but the others were of pristine fields, of stunning, breathtaking flowers that glowed with color, of lakes that seemed to shimmer in the firelight. Opulent rugs of a softness that seemed surreal were scattered around the floor in a careless fashion. The drapings and curtains were made of silk, rich and sumptuous, and she sighed with pleasure when she dragged the material across her skin. She sat on the edge of his bed, then seconds later had flung herself on it. It was  _ so comfortable _ , so much better than even the best mattresses on earth. It was like lying on a cloud made of the softest, most delicate feathers. She never wanted to leave, and didn’t understand how Solas could make himself get out of this bed whenever he slept on it. The sheets were made of silk, as were the pillowcases, and it was sheer decadence. The braziers and candles in the room were ornately wrought, lavish with detail, magnificently crafted. With a reluctant sigh, she got off the bed, and made her way to his wardrobe, Opening the doors gingerly, she gasped as her eyes landed on the lavish brocade silks, the richly-embroidered jacquard, of cashmere and angora so smooth she nearly wept; there was lace, and linen, and leather, organza and raw silk, sateen and suede, velvet and wool. She ran her hands almost worshipfully over the materials, sighing in pleasure. Now that she had seen the wardrobe he had once worn, it seemed strange, almost blasphemous, to picture him wearing the quiet, modest clothing he wore now.

And it made her sad to think of all that he was missing out on, made her angry to think of how he was mistreated now when he once was revered, when he was so knowledgeable, so wise. Admiration welled within her; he lived his quiet life now with no complaints, did not think to ask for more - even though Josephine would have given it to him without hesitation. It spoke volumes as to his character, and… and she found her heart slipping from where she kept it carefully guarded. 

The last corner of the massive bedroom held a glorious bathroom, hidden behind intricately carved wooden-and-metal screens. The rich red mahogany worked beautifully with the gold, and she found herself wondering if it would be too terrible of her if she snuck out the screens back to her room. The bathtub was enormous and deep; she sat in it, and her head only just poked out over the edge of it. It would work well for him, she realized; he was half a foot taller than her. There was even a shower in the corner, hidden away in a frosted glass ‘room’, much like the showers on earth. Pretty tiles covered the walls and the floor, decorated in nature-like patterns. She stared up, stunned, at the shower itself; it was a freaking  _ rain shower _ , the entire ceiling of the shower ‘room’ was covered in tiny holes that were meant to let water flow down onto the person standing below. She stared at it jealously, desperately wanting to try it out. She could even make out the inactivated runes that would heat the water. A shelf carved into the wall held several beautifully crafted bottles; she uncorked one and sniffed it carefully, pleased to find that it very much resembled the same scent Solas had on him even now.

 There was a clamor outside the door, and she swung her head towards the locked doors, wary.

 “You must come,” Cole was very agitated. “They sense you!”

 “Who senses me?” she asked, puzzled.

 “The Sentinels!” Cole said worriedly, tugging on her arm. There was a banging at the door, and a loud thud, and she could hear soft chanting on the other side.

 “Hurry!” Cole urged her. She ran with him to the eluvian, practically throwing herself at it. Once she was through, she quickly whispered the pass phrase, watching in relief as the mirror grew dull once more.

 “That was close,” she said quietly.

 “If they hurt you, he would be angry,” Cole explained. “He would hurt them. They don’t deserve to be hurt.”

 “I understand, Cole-bun,” she said in the same quiet voice. “Thank you for warning me.”

 He beamed. “I knew you’d understand.”

They made their way back up the ladder, and she muttered the password and inactivated the rune once more. “Thanks for coming with me,” she said softly, pulling him into a hug as they left the room.

“Belief, faith, trust,” he murmured, “you care about me, trust me. Must protect the Keeper.”

She’d given up on what Keeper meant. He clearly didn’t know what it meant either. “I know,” she said gently, “thank you for that, Cole.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> _Telir sileal enlean or'vir_ \- Only wisdom lights the path
> 
> _Geron esay_ \- Worth a try
> 
> * * *
> 
> So, I finally managed to somewhat boot my butt into gear and get back to writing... I'm just not sure if it's any good or not :/ It's times like this, when my creativity stinks, that I almost wish I was back in my totally-depressed zone because at least then I had some spark? Ugh, what is this shit. [Sorry, I'm ranting I know].
> 
> I ended up watching the Trespasser trailer in a bit to get some inspiration, and... holy hell. Like, the whole "We save Orlais, and they're angry. We save Ferelden, and they're angry. We closed the breach - twice! - and my own hand wants to kill me. Could one fucking thing in this world stay fixed?" line just _kills_ me. Wait, no. You know what does it? That... egghead... looking all sad and resigned, saying "I suspect you have questions." DAMN RIGHT I DO YOU HEART BREAKER.
> 
> In other, non-writing related news, my pupper has managed to tear holes in three pairs of my PJ's, eight t-shirts and two shorts. At this rate I'm going to have to replace my entire wardrobe >.< Which sucks because I **_hate_** shopping for clothes, it can get so demoralizing!


	81. She's A Story Not Meant To Be Written

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valammar beckons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: [trying for] Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

“Oh come on, _come on_ , what the hell,” she muttered beneath her breath as she caught sight of a familiar dwarf talking to her favorite author. “Is it time for this shit already?”

 She lingered by the corner, unashamedly listening in to their conversation.

 “... appreciate the warning, but you shouldn’t have come yourself. What if the guild found out? Or whatshisname?”

 Bianca scoffed. “Are you worrying for me or for yourself?”

 “A little of column A, a little of column B. I am the expendable one, after all.”

 “Awww,” Bianca purred. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you. We’ll just have to-”

 “Hey Varric,” she interrupted, flashing Bianca a bright smile. “Who’s your friend?”

 Bianca looked her up and down and scoffed, rolling her eyes, clearly dismissing her. _Well, fuck you too, you little misleading, lying bitch_.

 “Bianca Davri,” she said softly. “It is really not a smart move to dismiss me, my dear. Bianca Davri, of House Davri, the most pious of the Kalnas. Married to Bogdan Vasca. The woman who considers herself ten times the smith Paragon Branka was, yet in truth has barely quarter the knowledge that Dagna has. Pity. The woman who is under consideration for Paragon status, but will never achieve it, because the sad truth of the matter is that she _just isn’t as talented as she thinks she is_. Oh, and the one who’s responsible for Corypheus discovering red lyrium. Am I right?” she said, smiling saccharine-sweet at the shell-shocked dwarf.

 “Here comes the Inquisitor,” she said, pretending to be oblivious to the uneasy silence. “Helena, have you met Varric’s friend?” she asked cheerfully as the Inquisitor made her way to them.

 “Well, this is a surprise,” Bianca said in a strained voice. “You’re the Inquisitor, right? Bianca Davri, at your service,” she said,

 “You’re a friend of Varric’s?” Helena asked her.

 “Who isn’t a friend of Varric’s? Bianca replied, trying to regain her composure. “You have met him before, right?”

 “Any friend of Varric’s is welcome here,” Helena replied with a smile. Samarra only smiled pleasantly as Bianca’s eyes flickered uneasily towards her.

 “Be careful saying things like that,” Bianca joked. “Some of his friends you don’t want to meet.”

 “Including the one currently standing next to him,” she muttered, earning a glare from both Varric and Bianca. Helena only looked confused.

 “So, why are you here, Bianca?” Helena inquired politely.

 “Bianca’s got a lead on where Corypheus got his red lyrium,” Varric interjected, giving her a sideways glance.

 The dwarf in question hurriedly added, “The site of Bartrand’s Folly,  the thaig Varric found, has been leaked.”

 “ _cough_ Iwonderhow _cough_ ” Samarra mumbled.

 “You wanna get something for that throat, Crimson?” Varric asked pointedly.

 “I’m fine, thanks Varric,” she replied cheerfully. “Just an allergic reaction that comes from being too close to smug bitches who think they know shit but end up causing a fuckton of crap.”

 Bianca looked as though she could cheerfully murder her. Varric looked angry, but also worried. Samarra, however, wasn’t worried. She knew Bianca was powerless. Without the Inquisition’s help, Bianca could never recover the key she was after.

 “There’s a Deep Roads entrance crawling with strange humans carting out red lyrium by the handful.” Bianca continued.

 “How do we know they’re not using multiple entrances to get to the thaig?” Helena was, as usual, trying to get as much information as she could.

 “Navigating the Deep Roads isn’t like the surface,” Bianca explained. “There’s no accurate map of the whole system, and then there are the cave-ins, darkspawn, lava floods… Basically, if you find a route that gets where you’re going, you don’t deviate. Trying to find another way could be deadly.”

 “Who could have given away the thaig’s location?” Helena wondered.

 Varric jumped in before she could say a word, and she glowered at him. He gave her a pleading look, before answering Helena’s question. “There were a few people who knew. Hirelings from the expedition. A couple close friends…”

 “ _cough_ likeBiancaDavri _cough_ ”

 “How they found out isn’t important. What matters is we know where they are now.” Bianca said smoothly.

 “Wait, are you kidding me?” Samarra exclaimed, flabbergasted. “What do you mean, how they found out isn’t important? Of course it is! We’re talking about _red lyrium_ here. The substance that’s powering Corypheus’ fucking army. Of _course_ it matters how they found out! If Corypheus _hadn’t_ found out about red lyrium, we wouldn’t _have_ to deal with a fucking _red templar army_.”

 Varric looked downright uncomfortable, as did Bianca.

 “If it’s such a secret, how do you know about it, Bianca?” Helena challenged.

 “I told her,” Varric said quietly, eyes downcast. “Right after the expedition, I wrote and told Bianca what we found. I had artifacts that needed buyers, and she had more contacts that would pay for them,” he rushed to explain. “Plus, I owed her.”

 “Explain this to me,” Helena said. “I thought the thaig was in Kirkwall. How are we supposed to get there from Orlais? It’s a long way to the Free Marches.”

 “The Deep Roads are all connected,” Varric explained. “Or, they used to be. Collapses and such, you know. Some of them on purpose.”

 “They really are roads,” Bianca continued. “They spanned the dwarven empire. Went to every corner of the continent, maybe further. In theory, you can get to any thaig using the Deep Roads, but in practice… well, there’s a reason nobody uses them anymore.”

 Helena sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “We need to deal with this,” she muttered. “As long as he has this source, Corypheus is that much more powerful.”

 “I couldn’t agree more,” Varric said somberly.

 “I’ll keep an eye on their operation. If you’re interested in shutting it down, you’ve got my help,” Bianca promised.

  _Yeah, right. You should be helping, given it was you who caused this shit in the first place._

  _Not entirely her fault, you know._

  _Mostly her fault. Don’t blame her for wanting to learn more. Do blame her for not telling Varric about it. Or anyone. Nice of her to come forward once the shit’s hit the fan._

  _She didn’t_ _need_ _to come forward, you do understand that? I think you’re mixing up your protective feelings for Varric with your logical thoughts about this matter._

  _You saw the way she looked at me!_

  _I know. Going to be a lot of fun to see how Helena deals with her once she finds out the truth. Are you going to tell her?_

  _Yeah. I don’t need the Inquisitor mad at me when she could be mad at Bianca._

 “Well then, we’ll set out immediately,” Helena said firmly. “Samarra, a word, if I may?”

 “Of course, Inquisitor,” she said politely, and stepped into line with Helena.

 “I take it you’re not fond of Varric’s friend?” Helena was amused.

 “Lena, you should know that Bianca is the one who leaked the location of the thaig. You’ll find out more when you - we - go to Valammar, because let’s face it, I have no proof at the moment, but that’s the truth.”

 “Why that little bitch,” Helena ground out. “I should go smack her, right now.”

 “Leave it, Lena. Varric will just be super mad at you if you do.”

 “What’s Varric’s history with that woman, anyway?” Helena asked curiously.

 “Come on, Lena. What’s Varric’s crossbow’s name?” she looked at the Inquisitor expectantly.

 “Maker. _That’s_ who he named Bianca after?” the brunette asked, incredulous.

 She nodded. “Star-crossed lovers, the pair of them, although you’d never know by looking at her. She keeps leading Varric on, and I hate her for that. She’s all married and cosied up with a husband by her side, but she won’t give Varric the space to get over her.”

 “Okay, now I really, really want to smack her,” Helena growled. “I’m going to do it whether Varric likes it or not.”

 “Wait for a reason,” Samarra advised. “Like, say… discovering she was the one who was the leak?” she winked at Helena.

 Helena laughed. “Come on, you. Let’s get prepared for this trip to the Deep Roads.”

 “There’s going to be darkspawn,” Samarra grumbled. “Maybe we should take a Grey Warden with us.”

 “Good idea,” Helena said. “I’ll ask Blackwall.”

 Samarra could only groan internally. 

* * *

 Valammar was… okay, so it wasn’t as creepy as she’d expected it to be. Given her experiences with the Deep Roads in the games, she’d expected to thoroughly hate the experience. But it wasn’t so bad, actually. There was light streaming in from an unknown source - she hoped to god it wasn’t a titan or something - and there was an abundance of plants around, all of them strange and foreign, none of them the kind that she had seen on the surface. Dust lingered in the air, covering most of the surfaces as a result of disuse, although footprints could be clearly seen on the floor. To her surprise, she found flame-lit sconces lighting the dim path as well, a sure sign that the roads had had visitors of late.

 “Finally! I started to think you weren’t coming!” a voice exclaimed from the shadows, and they all jumped. Bianca emerged from a hole in the rock walls, a smirk on her face.

 Varric wasn’t amused. “Nobody said you had to hang out in the creepy cave while you waited,” he chided her.

 “Well,” Bianca rolled her eyes, “I did wait, so let’s make this quick. These idiots are carrying red lyrium in unprotected containers. We don’t need to hang around long enough for it to start ‘talking’ to us.” she warned.

 “Why would the containers need to be protected?” Helena asked, confused.

 Samarra jumped in before either of the dwarves could. “Lyrium is extremely dangerous in its raw form,” she explained. “It can even poison or kill dwarves, and they’re resistant to it. It has a tendency to sometimes… explode, with no warning. The mining caste doesn’t just sling it into a bucket. It’s carried in special containers that keep it under control. And that’s normal lyrium,” she continued. “Red lyrium, I suspect, is worse. I wouldn’t be surprised it it killed people who were just digging for it.”

 Varric was impressed with what she knew, but Bianca gave her a chary look.

 “How did you find this operation in the first place?” Helena was now suspicious. “There must be hundreds of Deep Road entrances.”

 “I’ve used this entrance in the past,” Bianca hedged. “Varric’s not the only surface dwarf to explore the Deep Roads.”

 Helena decided to wrap up the matter as soon as possible, so that they could return to Skyhold. Samarra knew the Inquisitor had other things on her mind; if it hadn’t been for her insistence that the brunette be present for this, the Inquisitor would have just sent some other people to deal with the matter. And technically, Helena wouldn’t have been wrong. A mixture of Inquisition soldiers and Grey Wardens could have handled this matter just as easily as they were (hopefully) about to. But she knew Varric was going to need a friend, and she wanted to be there for Varric, and to also make him aware that Helena did care about him, too. As it was, Marian and Garrett were lingering in the back, eyes shooting daggers at Bianca.

  _At least I’m not alone in my dislike of her_.

 The further they ventured into the Deep Roads, the more Samarra was surprised. Sure, it was eerie and creepy and she was constantly expecting a darkspawn attack, but it was also beautiful in its own way. It wasn’t in the pristine condition it once would have undoubtedly been. Waterfalls cascaded down the rocks, the waters’ final destination unknown. Spruce, fir and pine trees grew along the cliffs. There were even strange birds flying about, although Samarra noted uneasily that they didn’t seem to have _eyes_. Large, beautifully carved dwarven statues lined the bridge that they crossed, each statue easily fifteen feet tall. The bridge had rubble strewn across it, no doubt from one of the several cave-ins the Deep Roads were rumored to suffer from on a frequent basis.

 Varric caught sight of several Carta members in the distance. They hadn’t been alerted to the Inquisition’s presence yet. With a nod to Samarra, Cole and Sera, he slipped into stealth, followed soon after by the other rogues. Samarra crept up behind several that stood around at the top of a stairwell, and with a flourish, encased them all in a wall of ice, after which Sera easily knocked them down, one by one, with a volley of arrows. The blond elf was unusually pleased as she picked up her arrows. “We make a good team, yeah?” Sera exclaimed happily. “You do your little icy trick, and I’ll get them with arrows.”

 “Sounds good to me,” she said with a grin.

 Samarra couldn’t help but look around, amazed, at the dwarven architecture. It was all beautiful and meticulously done, and the quality and craftsmanship was incredible. When the dwarves built something, clearly they made sure it lasted for eternity. Even now, with some work, she could easily see Valammar being restored to what it once had been. Sadly, she doubted anyone would be interested in putting the time, effort - and not to mention the money - it would take to bring this place back to pristine condition.

 However, she began to change her mind as they climbed deeper into the Deep Roads. Here the light was faint, the majority of it coming from the man-lit torches, not taking into consideration the incredibly creepy glowing walls. She suspected it came from underlying veins of lyrium, but knowing what lyrium was, that only made it all the creepier. There was a titan’s veins running close to where she stood. A creature’s _blood_ was flowing a few feet away from where she stood. There was _no way_ that could be _anything_ but creepy.

 “Darkspawn,” Helena muttered, putting them all on guard.

 “A couple of hurlocks, a shriek and two genlocks,” Garrett whispered, observing the few Carta members locked in a futile battle against the darkspawn.

 “Okay, Samarra, Sera, Varric and Bianca will tackle the shriek and the genlocks,” Helena whispered, noting the bows that the genlocks wielded. “Blackwall, Bull and me can tackle the hurlock. Cole and Marian can provide support where needed. Dorian, Garrett, make sure you keep the barrier up on everyone at all times - we must make sure the darkspawn blood does not enter our skin.”

 Everyone nodded somberly. The rogues slipped into stealth, creeping up as close to the darkspawn as they dared. Samarra forgot how to breathe. She was terrified of the darkspawn, knowing how vicious they were. Not to mention the fact that they looked downright monstrous, like a creature out of a horror film. Well, worse than something out of a horror movie, really. Reptilian-looking skin, with scales that looked like armor. Grotesque-looking features, eyes that shone with evil and rage. They wore rudimentary armor, certainly of lesser quality than the ones they were wearing, but Samarra had no doubt that most of their defense was their scaly skin.

 There was a strange smell that surrounded them, like anger and bitterness and betrayal given form. It was sharp and distinctive, and borderline pungent, but it wasn’t repulsive. It was the kind of scent that gave one goosebumps, that made one feel an inexplicable sense of terror. Samarra had to inhale and exhale deeply to keep the fear from taking over her mind.

 Like a well-oiled machine, they worked in tandem. The darkspawn were too busy focusing their attacks on the dwarves to expect a second attack. She and Sera simultaneously attacked the shriek, putting a quick end to it; unfortunately, that alerted the rest of the darkspawn _and_ the Carta. The warriors charged towards the hulking hurlocks, battering and hacking at the darkspawn. Black blood the texture of syrup oozed from the wounds of the darkspawn, but it seemed to do little other than further enrage the monsters. Varric and Bianca fought the genlocks, exchanging arrows, but the two dwarves were protected by Dorian’s barrier and so were safe against the darkspawn attacks. With help from herself and Sera, soon the genlocks were down, too, and they focused their attention on the hurlocks. Marian and Cole were busy dealing with the Carta members, who, observing that the newcomers would defeat the darkspawn, were now more interested in protecting their illegal business. Daggers cut and sliced away from the darkness and the shadows, and soon they found themselves standing in the midst of several dead bodies, red and black blood scattered in a freakish fashion on the ground and the rocks around them.

 “Well,” Samarra took a deep breath, “I sure as fuck don’t want to be doing that anytime soon.”

 Dorian vehemently agreed, trying vainly to wipe off a speck of darkspawn blood from his clothing.

 They climbed further down, Blackwall and Iron Bull leading the way. As they turned a particularly dark corner, Blackwall hissed out a warning. “Hurlock Alpha!” But he wasn’t as quiet as he’d thought himself to be, and he alerted the darkspawn. It spun around, glaring evilly at them, and its eyes landed on her. Not that she was hidden; standing at the top of the stairs wasn’t a really good hiding place. It cocked its head, as though interested, as it observed her, and she had to suppress a shudder. With a violent roar, it began to charge at their group, its eyes never leaving her form. She screamed in fear, and stumbled backwards.

 Bull, Blackwall and Helena in the meantime were locked in a battle with the creature, trying to dodge the swings of its massive, menacing mace. Dorian and Garrett were busy casting barriers and spells, while the three archers fired arrow after arrow at it. Most of the arrows bounced off its skin harmlessly. To Samarra’s distinct alarm, it seemed to be pressing the warriors backwards, attempting to get to her. With a shaky hand, she nocked an arrow, and took aim at its neck, hoping that what appeared to be a patch of soft skin there was a vulnerability she could take advantage of. She let the arrow fly, and it lodged itself in the hurlock’s neck, but it didn’t bring it down. Following her example, Sera began to aim her arrows at the same spot, and several very long minutes later the hurlock alpha was sprawled out on the ground, at least four arrows in its neck, and a myriad of deep wounds on its body.

 Samarra was still trembling when Garrett reached her. “You okay?” he asked, wrapping an arm around her. “I… I think so,” she whispered.

 “Feel free to call me mad,” Dorian said uneasily, “but was it my imagination, or was that thing trying to make it’s way towards our dear seeress here?”

 Everyone shifted uneasily. “I thought I was the only one,” Helena confessed, giving her a worried look.

 “We can deal with that later,” Garrett said firmly. “Let’s wrap up what we came here for, and get out of here, before we face more darkspawn.”

 Dealing with the rest of the Carta was a simple matter. Samarra had to admit that the doors that Bianca had crafted were quite cool; much like the rudimentary safes on earth, but certainly better than most of the regular doors on Thedas. Save, perhaps ancient elven doors, which she knew were in a league of their own, being operated by magic. Finally, they entered the room where Samarra knew Bianca’s key would be. She let the dwarf take the key and lock the door, preventing anyone else from using the door, and gaining access to the numerous red lyrium deposits that were scattered around.

 Samarra wished she had popcorn for the showdown between Varric, Bianca and a very angry Helena. There was a loud of shouting, so much so Dorian had to cast a silencing barrier around the room for fear of alerting more darkspawn.

 “I found out that red lyrium… it has the blight, Varric!” Bianca exclaimed, shooting her a smug look. She just yawned; none of it was news to her. That seemed to piss Bianca off even more. “Do you know what that means?” the dwarf continued, trying to make herself sound knowledgeable.

 Varric was just frustrated. “What? That two deadly things combine to form something super-awful?”

 Bianca went on the make the grand revelation about lyrium being infected by the blight, wearing a superior look on her face. It just made Samarra want to laugh. For everything that the dwarf thought she knew, she still didn’t know the truth of her own ancestors. Still, despite the mistakes Bianca had made, and despite her frustrating attitude, the dwarf had at least sought to rectify her mistakes. Bianca had had to have known that, if she approached them for help in closing access to the deep road entrance, the Inquisition would figure out she was the leak. And yet, she still came to them for help. That meant something. It was too bad the woman wouldn’t just give Varric a chance to find someone for himself.

 As they made to leave, Bianca called out for her, asking for a private word. Samarra obliged her amusedly; the dwarf hadn’t made the eyeball-feeding threat to the Inquisitor, so she could only assume it was meant for her instead.

 “Get him killed,” Bianca said menacingly, “and I’ll feed you your own eyeballs, _Oracle._ ”

 She laughed, infuriating the dwarf. “You have the audacity to tell me that? Tell me, Bianca, who put him in danger simply by contacting him? Who put him at risk of assassins by asking him for help? It’s all fine and well when we clean up the mess you made, but if it’s something else, suddenly you’re very indignant about it. Why, is that, I wonder? Let _me_ warn _you_ , Bianca. Keep messing with Varric’s mind, and I can promise you, you will be very, very, sorry. You’re happily married but you keep stringing the poor man along, and I won’t stand for that. He deserves happiness, and you’re deliberately keeping it from him. So maybe, _maybe_ it’s time for you to cut the strings and let him find someone. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he does.” Flashing the woman a fake smile, she walked away confidently, joining Garrett and Marian in their attempts to cheer poor Varric up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like, I'm torn about Bianca. On one hand, she did cause the whole mess, but on the other, she didn't know, and she did try to correct it. Still, I wish she'd leave Varric alone so he'd find someone too. It isn't fair that she's married and all comfy in her life while he's all alone :(
> 
> 10/10 believe that Dagna's waaaaaay smarter than her, though.


	82. We Rise By Lifting Others

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samarra tries to help where she can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

Bianca split ways with their party before they reached Skyhold, opting instead to make her way to Jader and then to Val Royeaux, where her workshop was. Most of the party was glad to see her go, having tired of the woman’s incessant self-praising banter, and also because they didn’t like seeing her take blatant advantage of Varric. She made him run around like a little puppy, made him wait on her all the time; her back ached from riding? He was there to tell her stories to distract from the pain as he rubbed the salve into her limbs. She was too tired to do her share of hunting for the evening meal? He took over without complaint. She was bored of hearing his stories? He would stop mid-way, even as the others protested the abrupt end to what had been a fascinating tale.

When they arrived at Skyhold without her, Garrett and Marian looked relieved, happy to have their friend away from a negative influence, but Varric was down in the dumps.

In an effort to cheer him up, she tracked him down to the table in the Great Hall he usually hung out at, where he shamelessly listened in to gossip and material for his stories. She found him, quill in hand, busily writing something down.

“Am I disturbing?” she asked as she slid into a chair facing him.

“Not really,” he replied, carefully putting away his quill. “What can I do for you, Crimson?” he asked, stacking his papers up in a neat bundle.

“Looks like you’ve finished a book?” she questioned.

“A gift for our Seeker. The Inquisitor was adamant I continue my Swords and Shields series.” He gave her a knowledgeable look. “Would it have anything to do with the recommendation you asked for back at that bookstore in Val Royeaux?” he grinned.

She smiled slyly. “You know I won’t say,” she chuckled.

“That’s answer enough for me,” he chortled. “Who’d have thought it? The Seeker’s a closet romantic.”

“Hey, don’t make fun of her. I think it’s rather sweet.”

“If you say so, Crimson. ‘Course, there’s no way I can’t  _ not _ make fun of her, you do realize that, right? I can’t pass up such a huge opportunity.”

“Uh huh, that’s pretty much what I expect from you, dwarf. Oh, hey, you in for Wicked Grace this evening? Garrett, Marian and Helena will be there for sure, and a couple others if I can drag them down.”

“Sure. Bring the Kid, too. ‘Bout time he learns how to play the cards instead of talking to them.”

She laughed. “I’ll do that.”

“Well, okay then Crimson. I gotta get these pages sent to my printer if I want to get the Seeker her book in time.” He got up from the table, packed his things, and began to walk away.

“ Varric?” she called out as he was leaving. He turned to face her, a grin on his face.

“Can’t get enough of the dwarf, I see,” he teased.

She didn’t smile. “Varric… love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not self-seeking. You love her,” she murmured, “but does she love you?”

The smile dropped from his face and he stalked out, shoulders hunched over in anger.

She sighed sadly and headed for the Inquisitor’s rooms to talk to Helena. He was missing from their Wicked Grace game that evening.

He tracked her down to the tavern two days later, sliding next to the empty seat beside her. Signalling for his usual ale, he waited till it arrived and he’d taken a fortifying gulp before speaking.

“First time I laid eyes on her, I was smitten.”

“No way,” she said, a note of laughter in her voice. He seemed to pick up on it gratefully.

“Yeah. Felt like I’d been stabbed by an assassin. I kept thinking, pretty eyes, she has pretty eyes. Then she opened her mouth and two minutes later I wanted to throttle her.”

“That bad, huh?”

“You don’t even know the half of it. I was trying to find someone to design a very specific mechanical item for me-” he sidled a glance towards her, as though expecting her to question what, but she only smiled at him and waited for him to continue. “I had a rough idea, but I wasn’t even halfway through explaining what I was looking for when she jumped in and flat out called me an idiot.”

She chuckled. “I bet that stung.”

“You bet it did. Not five minutes later, I’m staring at a sketch of Bianca. I ask her how much she wants to create it, and she quotes this ridiculous figure. I’m talking ‘haha-oh-wait-you’re-serious’ kind of figure. So I scoff and walk away…”

“Without the design?” she said with a knowing grin.

“It was in here,” he said, tapping his forehead. “I recreated it on paper once I was home, and took it straight to my usual guy, Gerav. He did an okay job - it was functional, but it wasn’t fluid, you know? The two of us would work on her, making improvements and modifications whenever possible, but the prototype didn’t last long. Six months later, Bianca contacts me, asks me if I’m still interested in the crossbow. This time, I say yes - she’d become famous for her seed drill by then, and I’m smart enough to recognize talent when I see it. She had this small workshop in Val Royeaux at the time, and we spent months working on it. She was as into the automatic crossbow as I was, and came up with better plans than Gerav and I ever did. When you spend long days and nights with someone... “ he shrugged, “you know what happens next.”

“Her parents got in the way,” she said, more a statement than a question.

“Yeah. I was just the idle younger brother of House Tethras, someone with no real clout. Her parents were Kalnas - surface dwarves so pious they don’t take a shit without conferring the Stone. They found a Smith caste boy for her, from a powerful family. But she didn’t want to marry him, which pissed her parents off. The Vasca family weren’t impressed by this, and threatened the Davris… it nearly lead to a full out clan war. The Guild had to step in, forced us to separate.” He drained his tankard. “I heard the wedding was beautiful. The one she showed up for, anyway.”

“Oh, Varric,” she said, her heart going out to him.

“She did it for me. Her parents kept sending assassins after me, and she thought… if she got married to Vasca they’d stop.” He slumped over. “It kind of worked. They don’t do it very often these days.”

“Varric,” she said carefully, “she certainly seems happy in her new life. It’s not fair for her to expect you to put yours on hold, waiting for her… because you know she’ll never come, don’t you?”

“I know,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t do it.”

She thought of the many times she’d romanced Solas, and her lips quirked into a grim smile. She lived vicariously through her many Lavellans, enjoying the intelligence and knowledge that he held. Even knowing how the romance ended, knowing how he had lied and betrayed her (because yes, it was  _ her _ heart he broke each time he left her in the grove, not Lavellan’s), she couldn’t imagine romancing anyone else in the game.

It was why she stopped creating female elf characters after the fifth time he’d soundly broken her heart.

It was why she forced herself to keep a polite distance from him now, why she was terrified of falling in love with him here, in the real world. Even though things hadn’t quite played out the same as in the game, even though he’d claimed to like her, she knew that if she dared to let her guard down, she would end up with a shattered heart.

And having actually met him, having spent time with him, having  _ slept _ with him… when he left her, and he  _ would _ … she wasn’t sure if she would be able to pick up the pieces and move on if she loved him.

“I know how it feels,” she said slowly. “You feel like there’s a part of them that only you know, and you hang on to it, you let it fuel your hope because… because you don’t  _ know _ any other way to be. You can’t imagine a life without them, however little you see of them, however little you have of them. And each time they come to you, no matter how short it is, you desperately hope that this time it’ll be different, that this time round they’ll see that it’s your heart you hold out for them, and that this time they’ll take it, keep it, protect it. Even though you’ve had countless experiences that have shown you that it’ll never be how you imagine it, you can’t stop hoping.”

She turned her head to catch the dwarf staring intently at her, and let out a weak chuckle. “Believe me, I understand Varric. It’s just… you’re a great guy, and you deserve to be happy. So… just try, will you? For my sake? Give moving on a shot.”

He nodded slowly. “I’ll think about it.” he muttered. “Only for you, Crimon.” He raised his tankard. “Here’s to us, and the ones who make fools of us.”

“Hear, hear,” she grinned, toasting him.

 

* * *

“Solas?” she called out as he entered the rotunda.

He raised a brow at her. “Yes?”

“There is something I need to talk to you about. Do you have a moment to spare?”

He nodded, and walked over to her, seating himself on the other end of the fainting couch. “What is it?”

She looked somber. “A vision. Solas, one of your friends will be summoned and bound by a group of ignorant, scared mages. She will turn into a demon. If that happens, no matter what she will die.”

His hand shot out and gripped her forearm tightly. “Tell me everything,” he demanded.

She swallowed. “Wisdom will fall prey to a summoning circle cast by a group of mages in the Exalted Plains who were being plagued by bandits. They will bind her, and order her to kill the bandits. She will be forced to obey, and when she does…”

“She will turn into a demon,” he breathed in horror. “What happens after that?”

“I… uh… depending on who you ask for help and take with you, either they will kill the pride demon or break the summoning circles. If they break the summoning circle, Wisdom will regain her form, but she would have been so damaged you would have no option but to kill her to free her.”

His jaw clenched. “How long have you known this for?” he ground out.

“Solas… I…” she stared at him, confused. “I told you this so you could warn Wisdom. It doesn’t need to happen, don’t you see?”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he said coldly.

“It came to me yesterday,” she lied.

“You are hiding the truth, seeress,” he said calmly, almost eerily so. “If I lose my friend as a result of your folly, I will make you pay, believe me.”

“Wait, what?” she said, aghast. “I told you this so that I could help you. I could have kept it to myself and let your friend die, but I didn’t, because I know how much you care for her! And what do you do? You blame and threaten me! When nothing has happened!”

“Yet,” he said sternly.

She rose from the couch. “Remind me never to help you again,” she growled and stomped off.

“Wait,” he called out.

She stopped. “What?” she said rudely.

He sighed. “ _ Ir abelas, da’assan _ . It was wrong of me to place the blame on you. You were only trying to help.”

“Yeah, I was,” she said, but not quite so harshly.

“I will warn Wisdom,” he said. “But… should the worst happen. Can I ask you to accompany me?” he said hesitantly.

The uncertainty in his voice caused her to turn around. “Of course,” she said softly. “I will come with you, Solas. I don’t want you to lose a friend.”  _ Nor do I want you to kill those mages. They were ignorant and stupid and scared and did something dumb. But they don’t deserve to die for it, even if that Kirkwaller mage was a dumbass blowhard. _

“Thank you,” he said quietly. She nodded, and left the room.

 

* * *

“Hey, Alistair?” she knocked on his door gently. “You busy?”

He opened it with a smile on his face. “Not at all. What can I do for you?”

“Actually,” she hesitated. “It’s, ummm, kind of long. And complicated. But… you need to come with me.”

“Sure,” he said, puzzled, shutting the door behind him. “Is everything okay? You look rather serious.”

She gave a small smile. “Yeah. Like I said… it’s complicated.” There was a terse silence as they walked into the great hall. “Actually,” she said slowly, “I, ummm. I need you to keep an open mind, okay? And… no matter what you feel… just… you need to listen to everything, okay?”

“Samarra, you’re scaring me now,” he joked weakly.

“No, no!” she reassured him. “It’s not a bad thing. Really. But… like, I need you to just listen, okay?”

“You will have my full attention,” he promised.

She chuckled, swinging the door to Fiona’s office open. “It’s not me you need to pay attention to,” she said softly. She shut the door carefully behind her, placing a ward over it, and nodded to Fiona, who activated the silencing rune in the room.

“What’s going on?” Alistair demanded, looking at the two women. Fiona looked uncomfortable, and worried, wringing her hands together nervously.

“Alistair,” she said softly, “you know how you always thought your mother was a servant who worked for King Maric?”

“Yeah,” he said. “She died giving birth to me. What of it?”

“That was a lie, Alistair,” she said gently. “Your  _ real _ mother is alive and well… and standing in front of you.”

He swung his head towards Fiona, a look of disbelief on his face. “No,” he shook his head. “It can’t be. Arl Eamon wouldn’t lie to me. My mother is dead. She was a serving maid. I have a half-sister. You…” he said, pointing at Fiona, “you cannot be my mother!”

“It is true, Alistair,” Fiona said in a tear-filled voice, stepping closer to him. “I met your father when we were hunting down an unusually intelligent darkspawn emissary that sought to introduce the taint to all of Thedas. We… grew close during our time together. When I left for Weisshaupt with Duncan, I was carrying you. I saw your father again only when I brought you to him, Alistair. I wanted you to be raised in ignorance of my elven heritage, one that has brought me little but pain. I made your father swear that you would be raised fully human, and not in line for his throne, that you would not have to compete with Cailan, nor be tied to the royal blood that had brought him nothing but grief. I sought only to protect you, my child, although it is now clear to me that I have failed miserably in that regard. I’m so sorry, Alistair. I only wanted you to be happy. Your father and I wanted nothing but your safety.”

Alistair was white with shock. “Why did you need to lie to me?” he whispered. “All my life, all I ever wanted was a family. Instead I was forced to work as a stableboy as a child, sent off to the Chantry as though I were unwanted baggage. Why did Duncan lie to me?”

“Duncan was watching over you all the time, Alistair,” Fiona tried to reassure him. “He knew who you were, and did his best to keep you safe.”

“Was that why he wouldn’t let me join the main forces at Ostagar?” Alistair wondered.

Fiona shrugged helplessly. “Possibly. I know little of the Wardens during the time of the Fifth Blight. I was no longer a Warden by then; the taint had vanished from me.”

His ears perked up. “You were a Grey Warden,” he breathed. “And now you are not?”

“No,” Fiona shook her head. “Something happened to me. There was an Enchanter by the name Remille, who fashioned a locket for me that was meant as protection, but served to accelerate the spread of the taint in me. But when I took it off, I recovered from the artificially accelerated taint, and indeed, recovered from the taint completely. The Wardens were not happy about this; they made me go through the Joining several times after that, but the taint did not take hold in me again.”

Alistair was silent for the longest time. Samarra walked over to him, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He leaned into her gratefully, resting his head on top of hers. Finally, he spoke up. “So… my mother was a Grey Warden mage, and became the Grand Enchanter of the Circle of Magi, lead the mages to rebel, and… is pretty much one of the strongest women I know.” He flashed a weak smile at Fiona. “I would like to hear more about you… if you would let me.”

Fiona gave him a tearful smile and a nod, and Samarra knew it was time for her to leave. “I’ll give you two some privacy,” she murmured, and headed for the door. Alistair startled her by pulling her backwards into a fierce hug. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she murmured, feeling very emotional herself. Clearing her throat, she smiled at the two of them. “I’m sure you two have a lot to catch up on.”

Hours later, Alistair tracked her down to the library. He sat next to her, looking tired but happy. “How are you doing?” she asked him quietly.

“Still in shock, but better,” he replied in kind. “We had a long talk. There’s quite a bit we have in common - leaving the Grey Warden stuff aside. Turns out she first encountered the Architect that Aedan and I defeated. And she knew where I was and what I was doing when I was growing up. Duncan kept a close eye on me. I think when he first rescued me from the Chantry a part of me recognized him. It sounds silly, but I knew that I could trust him, instinctively. I wish he were still alive. I know he’d like to know that I met my mother. And I know he’d be happy.”

“I’m sure that wherever he is, he’s happy for you and Fiona,” Samarra said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“It’s just strange, you know? All these years I thought I was just a royal bastard, destined to be without a family. My mother is dead, my father is missing and presumed dead, my half-brother is dead, and his wife is married to my best friend. My half-sister - well, not really, is she? - is pretty much a bitch who would only acknowledge me for money. Even Eamon never felt like family. Probably because his wife wouldn’t let him. And now, all of a sudden, I have a mother. And she’s…  _ amazing _ , Samarra, she’s been through so much, and she’s just so  _ strong _ , and to know that I’m her son and not some random serving maid… it’s making me take a harder look at myself. I thought I had so much to prove, being of half-royal blood, but now, it feels like I have  _ twice _ as much to prove, because both my parents accomplished so much.”

“You don’t have to prove yourself, Alistair. You’ve already proved yourself. You fought in the fifth blight, helped bring down the Archdemon. You and Aedan raised an army by yourselves! That’s  _ huge _ .”

He looked at her wryly. “I wonder if there’s anything you  _ don’t _ know,” he chuckled.

“Yes,” she said seriously. “I don’t know the color of people’s underwear.”

He burst out laughing at that, and his laughter was so infectious she couldn’t help but join in.

“Thank you… for everything,” he said softly when their laughter finally stopped. “You not only saved my life, but you gave me a mother. There’s nothing I can possibly do to repay that, but if you ever need anything from me, Samarra, it’s yours - no questions asked.”

“Be careful making an offer like that,” she joked.

“You didn’t even know me, and you went above and beyond to help me,” he said seriously. “Of course I trust you.”

Touched, she reached out and gripped his hand. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She hesitated a moment. “Can I… can I ask you something?” she asked.

“You mean you don’t already know the answer to it?” he teased. “Ask away, seeress.”

“Did you… did you feel bad when Aedan married Anora and became King? I mean, you are a Theirin, and technically someone who has the most claim to the throne of Ferelden.”

He looked thoughtful for several minutes. “Not really,” he said consideringly. “Aedan was far more responsible than I was at the time. He was the one who lead us to victory, after all, and he did much of the work in securing allies for us. I remember thinking at the time it was a good thing he married Anora - she wouldn’t have made a very good Queen on her own, even though she does care for her people. But she’s too much like her father, has an intense hatred of Orlesians, and she’s quite ruthless. Aedan’s influence, you might have noticed, has meant Ferelden is a better place for everyone, not just humans. He’s sympathetic to the plight of the elves, and he’s continually trying to make Ferelden better. I won’t argue that I wasn’t a little angry at the time, but not for the reason you’re thinking. You see, Aedan was… was very close to Leliana. By marrying Anora, he essentially forced the poor girl to become his mistress. It didn’t seem right to me. Leliana loved him - still does, I’m sure - deeply. I’m sure the whole experience hardened her.”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” she murmured, giving an involuntary shudder when she thought back to the look the spymaster had given her when she first landed in Thedas.

“I like Leliana, she was a sweet girl. Didn’t deserve that. I argued with Aedan over that.”

“Didn’t he even consider making you King?” she asked, curious.

“He did. I turned him down. I didn’t want the responsibilities. I enjoyed my life as a Grey Warden at the time. We were all big heroes, remember, everyone was celebrating us.”

“And now?” she prompted.

He sighed. “Seeing the mess at Adamant… makes me think the Wardens have lost their way. I never thought I’d say this, but if there was a way for me to leave the Order, I would.”

“Have you spoken to Fiona about the possibility of removing the taint from you?” she asked.  _ I could, but it isn’t time yet. And I’m so sorry that Fiona lied to you. It’s… just not yet time, Alibear. _

“Yes. She says she doesn’t know how she was cleansed of the taint, but we’re going to be looking into it together. Maybe come up with a solution, so we can help all the Wardens.”

“I’m surprised none of the Wardens have thought into looking for a cure for the Blight before,” she confessed.

“Aedan was very interested in searching for a cure,” Alistair admitted. “He even mentioned wanting to travel to far-away lands, in the west, where rumors say there has never been a blight before. But he got caught up in his kingly duties.”

“What about you?” she asked with a smile.

“Me?” he grinned. “I was made leader of the Ferelden Coalition, you must remember. There was the matter of hunting down the Architect, and then I was kept busy with many Warden missions. I had no time to spare. Maybe, if we come out of this whole Corypheus mess alive… who knows? I might take it up then.”

She thought of the hazy vision she had had, and smiled mysteriously. “Perhaps you’re destined for greater things, Alistair,” she said enigmatically.

He rolled his eyes. “If it involves you, Samarra… I have no doubt things will get interesting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so one of the biggest reasons I can never side with the Templars is because you end up killing Fiona. And I just _cannot_ do that to Alistair. The thought of my sweet Alibear, not knowing who his real mother is... that doesn't sit well with me, so of course I had to change it :D
> 
> I've also written a [teensy drabble](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8796256) about Alistair discovering who his mother was too late, feel free to check it out!
> 
> Also, I know a couple of y'all have been wanting another Solas chapter! I think the next one will likely be, but in the meantime, I wrote a [non canon spin-off](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11339349) from Chapter 80. It's NSFW, so... be warned :D


	83. *Wolves Are Wily, But They're Not The Only Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is not the only one with secrets, and it is a concern.
> 
> _**NSFW** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *

**POV Solas**

She hardly ever spent time with him anymore.

Ever since Adamant, since he’d kept his share of the promise, she’d been avoiding him, and it irked him no end. He knew she was oath-bound to keep her part of their agreement, but she certainly was doing all she could to postpone it. Instead, she spent her days with other people - the arcanist, the twin Champions… the Theirin bastard… He clenched his jaw. She was spending  _ far _ too much time with Alistair. He was aware the man was attracted to Samarra, and it was infuriating that the attractions seemed mutual.

So much so her friends had taken to making sly comments about it, teasing her, teasing him. There was even a bet circulating around as to when they would end up in bed together. Not  _ if _ , but  _ when _ .

No doubt the dwarf had something to do with it. No matter; he would let her play her little games. It was rather amusing, now that he thought about it, how much she shied away, and how futile all her efforts would be in the end. Did she truly think he would free her from her sworn promise?

He finished up the last of the mural, delicately painting the finer details, before carefully putting away the remaining paint and cleaning his brushes thoroughly. Tomorrow, he thought, he would begin working on the sketches for the Inquisitor’s victory at Adamant. His lips twisted into a frown as he thought of the Wardens being recruited. He’d seen Helena glance at Samarra before she made the decision, and knew that the Oracle had subtly influenced the Inquisitor.

Something he had once hoped to do. Instead, he was stuck in a position of having the Inquisitor trust him, but just not enough to blindly follow his counsel. And Samarra was far too headstrong to let herself be manipulated through subtle means. It would likely take nothing short of  _ true _ vallaslin to get the damned stubborn redhead to become obedient.

For a moment he pictured Samarra bearing his vallaslin, the design long-forgotten to the ages. Even before he had constructed the veil, there was no one who bore his vallaslin. He found the practice distasteful, had hated what it represented. And yet… there was definitely something  _ immensely _ appealing in picturing the garnet-haired woman bearing the mark of his possession on her face, to have the world know who bore claim to her. Especially if she was the  _ only _ one to have it…

He swore softly under his breath as he hardened. It seemed as though practically  _ any _ thought related to  _ her _ was enough to trigger his arousal. For a moment he cursed himself for giving in to his lust. He should have known that bedding her once wouldn’t be enough. He should have been wise enough to realize the danger she represented! Instead he had lost focus like a randy teenager, and now he was paying for the folly. She was firmly lodged in his mind, and no matter what he did he couldn’t shake her free.

He took a deep breath. It was consolation that in time she would feel the same way. He knew she was attracted to him, knew she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame, and she had given in twice already, and had promised him more. Though he was not at his full power yet, the mark he gave her would serve as a visible reminder to her of who she had agreed to give herself to. And once he recovered his orb, it was a simple matter of completing the ritual so that she would never be inclined to take another to bed.

It was a reassuring thought.

It wouldn’t be against her will, either. She had  _ agreed _ to it, had sworn an oath. And he knew that she felt the same pull he did, knew that she wasn’t able to resist it. Although she definitely fought against it. Oh, how she fought against it. No, she remained stubbornly opposed to him for some reason, and he  _ would _ uncover it. Her rationale that they had no future wasn’t entirely wrong, but the way she had said it made it seem like a cover for something else. And given the fact that she harbored no disdain for his kind, he could rule out a distaste for being with an elf.

He replayed the scene at camp that night, when he had called her away from her friends.  _ Fenhedis.  _ Had he actually asked her to accompany him? What  _ was _ it about that damned woman that caused him to revert to a fumbling, inexperienced idiot? And she’d  _ rejected _ him! The last time  _ that _ had happened was when he’d had far too much to drink at Sylaise’s betrothal where he’d made a pass at Ghila’nain. And while he was certainly glad he hadn’t ended up in bed with that harpy, he was decidedly  _ not _ happy that the redhead had turned him down.  _ Especially _ after he’d already taken her to bed. It was like rubbing salt into an open wound. What had she said?  _ I have but one heart and one life, and I must guard both well? _ Interesting choice of words, he thought. What did she mean by that? Did she suspect who he was? But if she did, she would have informed Helena. If she had had a vision of who he was, and to whom to orb  _ really _ belonged to, she would not have hesitated to inform the Inquisitor. Instead, she spent time willingly with him, both in the waking world and in the Fade.

So there was something else to it, something else she kept hidden. He huffed. He did not enjoy the knowledge that there was someone who he could not predict. It was more than a mere annoyance, it was an inconvenience. It made her immune to his subtle tactics.

His eye caught the note tucked away carefully in the crevice on the wall near the stairs. It was how his agents contacted him. He frowned. He had given careful instructions for them to not contact him at all unless a matter was of urgent importance. Storing his paints and brushes away carefully, he walked over casually to the stairs, sliding out the tiny slip of paper in a practiced move, having made sure no one was around. He swiftly made his way up to his room, locking and warding the door behind him before unfolding the paper. Reading the contents, he swore violently.

It was from his Sentinels.

_ Someone _ had found a way into his personal bedchamber in his sanctuary.  _ Someone _ had discovered the secret, hidden eluvian in Skyhold, and had managed to unlock it.

He didn’t need to guess who could have possibly done so. There was only  _ one _ person in all of Skyhold who was capable of such a feat. It still astounded him that she had managed to do so. It was  _ incredibly _ well hidden. How had she managed to activate the rune? It would only respond to his magic. Not even Mythal could unlock that rune, so complex it was. And the eluvian? How had she guessed the password?

There were too many mysteries surrounding her. Had she guessed who the chamber belonged to? Did she now know who he was? Was  _ that _ why she avoided him?

He gazed thoughtfully out of the window. Ideally, he should consider her a threat and eliminate her. He knew he should assume she knew enough of the truth for him to ‘accidentally’ get rid of her. And yet, he was loathe to. He had plans that included her, and he had no inclination to rearrange them. She had power, and he intended to claim it. To end her would benefit no one, not the Inquisition, nor him. He needed another way.

Perhaps marking her would serve more than one purpose.

He pondered over how to handle the situation. She had access to his private chambers, and that was dangerous, especially since he had several journals in his room, and she was able to read elvhen, even if it was ancient. The possibility that she would return there and go through his belongings was too large to ignore, and posed too great a threat. He could ask his Sentinels to remove all the books from his chambers, but he was loathe to do so. The only other option was to place a barrier over the wall where the eluvian exited. He couldn’t even more the damn mirror; it was crafted for his room and his room alone, and he wasn’t sure if it could be moved.

He pictured her in his room. Had she liked it? Would she have marvelled at it? He wondered what would have attracted her the most. Certainly the books; he had a vast collection. He could almost see the wonder in her eyes as she approached the bookshelves; she would have run her fingers over the spines in that gentle, reverential manner she had. She would have marvelled at the artwork, studying them as she did his murals, with a tilt to her head, lips pursed in thought, that slight furrow to her forehead. Had she admired his paintings? Recognized them as his hand? Had she tested his bed, revelled in the softness of it?

His eyes darkened as he thought of her rolling around in his bed. With a groan, he undid his breeches, pulling his erection free from the confines of his smalls. He stroked himself lightly, imagining it was her hand on his cock, picturing her on his bed, naked save for his vallaslin on her face and his mark on her chest. He would bind her hands to the headboard, then he would slowly undo her with the pleasure he pressed on her.

He spread the bead of liquid glistening at the tip around his head, hissing at the pleasure.

Her lips, her beautiful, full lips, would be parted as she pleaded with him. Her eyes, those bewitching eyes would be clouded over with desire. He stroked himself faster, seeing her back arch up off the bed, her hips twisting from side to side as she begged him for more. Her legs parted, her folds slick with desire. He remembered the tight, wet heat of her and his body trembled as his hand picked up speed.

He would please her with his hands, with his mouth, with his magic, and he would allow her to do the same. His mind flashed back to how her lips had slid slowly over the length of him, how her tongue had curled around the tip of him and he groaned, squeezing his arousal tighter, his strokes becoming desperate and erratic.

When he finally entered her, she would sob his name. His real name, the one he kept hidden, the one the Dalish feared. It would spill forth from her lips in that sweet, husky, mellifluous voice of hers, and she would make it sound like a prayer. He could imagine her her body flushed with desire, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, her back arched, her moans filling the air… could see her writhe helplessly around on his mattress as he took her higher and higher. When he pictured her reaching her peak, he let out a guttural moan as he spilled into his hand, his release pleasurable, but lacking when compared to being sheathed within her. With a dissatisfied grunt, he cleaned himself up.

He huffed. She was a complication he could not afford, and yet, here he was.

He would have  to try and see if he could regain control of his eluvian. If that failed, he would have to ask the Sentinels to find a way to move the eluvian in his room to another place. Perhaps the dungeons? Or someplace where his Sentinels would always be on guard. He would have to alert them of her presence. He did not need them to recklessly slaughter the redhead in an effort to protect him. If they encountered her again, he would have to warn them to capture her, to keep her bound. He rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen them up. Another headache he had to deal with. As though he weren’t already busy with trying to come up with a plan to wrest control of the eluvian network from Briala. He sighed. If only Felassan had not failed…

A sliver of guilt entered him when he thought of the elf. Had he been too hasty in his actions? Yes, Felassan had failed, and had failed  _ deliberately _ ; he could have gained the password, but had chosen not to. That was inexcusable, as was his insistence that the people in this forsaken world were real. And yet… he shifted uncomfortably, thinking of the Inquisitor. Helena was kind and thoughtful, honorable and merciful. She had even spared the life of the man who had sought to take hers, something that would have been unheard of in Arlathan. When he had fallen ill, she had fussed over him, had worried over him. And her companions. Several of them were insufferable, but then again… he could not argue that they were  _ not real _ . Perhaps… perhaps Felassan had had a point…

He shook his head. What was done, was done. All he could do now was to move onwards. There were rumors of a ball at the Winter Palace, a cover for peace negotiations between the Empress and her cousin, the Grand Duke. It was the perfect time to regain control of the network. He would have to do so manually, which was unfortunate, but it would be easy enough for him to slip away; an elf in Halamshiral would hardly be given a second glance.

With a heavy sigh, he left his room, making his way slowly and carefully to the small library tucked away in the basement. Even if one of Leliana’s people caught him, no one would question the bookish elven apostate spending time amidst more books. It would not rouse suspicion. He shut the door, making sure no one would be able to enter, and made his way to the table. Immediately, he felt the faint traces of magic lingering in the air, a magic familiar and unwelcome. So, she  _ had _ succeeded in activating the rune. Part of him had hoped that he was mistaken. Still, how had she managed to guess the passphrase? His eyes scanned the books, searching for the only one he knew had it.

It was missing.

Muttering an oath beneath his breath, he placed his fingers on the rune, activating it. It worked, which was a relief; it still irked him that he would no longer be the  _ only _ one who could. Frankly, the idea that a  _ mortal _ had been able to override his magic was  _ galling _ . Appalling. Especially one  _ he _ had trained! Mumbling the passphrase, he watched the table silently sink into the floor, and climbed down the stairs. Two sets of footsteps could be seen in the dust; there was a trail leading towards the eluvian, and one away. He frowned. Who had she taken with her? Who did she trust enough to ask to accompany her? A flash of jealousy hit him. Was it Alistair? Had she taken Alistair to his private chamber?

He would have to kill the human if that were so.

Still frowning, he set alight the braziers in the room. Several weapons lay scattered about, dull and dusty from misuse. They had not been disturbed. But there  _ was _ something that had been disturbed. He walked over to an old set of his armor that shone in the firelight. He could feel the faint hum of a protection ward under it. It had been restored; it looked new. Even the wolf pelt, that by all rights should have been matted and moth-eaten, was soft and clean.

She’d taken the time to clean it, had taken the time to ensure it wouldn’t get dirty again. She didn’t know it belonged to him, but she’d done it anyway. A warmth burst in his chest. She was thoughtful and kind, his  _ fen’leal _ . At that moment, he knew she would stand by him should he ask her to. She would want to help… Placing it back where he’d taken it from, he made his way to the eluvian. It was dull, and it seemed to mock him. He placed his hand on it.  _ “Atish’alasis’sul fen’harel. _ ” Nothing happened. It remained locked. He cursed under his breath, repeating the passphrase. Still nothing happened. Finally, he placed both palms on the mirror’s surface, and pushed his power into it, trying to reset the eluvian. To his absolute astonishment, his power was unable to override whatever had been done to it. It was as though the mirror firmly refused to recognize his potential claim on it.

He drew back, uneasy. Whatever Samarra had done to it had involved a great deal of power. Power she should not know about, should not have access to. She should not have known what an eluvian was, let alone how to override its controls. The seeress definitely knew far more than she was letting on, and it was obvious she was learning a great number of things outside of what he had taught her. Where she was getting this information from wasn’t a mystery; he suspected it came from the Fade. She was able to converse with spirits; Wisdom had mentioned meeting her, and he knew that his old friend had spoken with Samarra on more than one occasion, though the spirit refused to say of what. So it seemed highly probable that she was receiving instruction from other spirits in the Fade. And that posed a problem for him; he could not know just what they told her, or who she conversed with.

Which meant he had no way of knowing just how much she knew. It kept him on edge.

For now, he would have to keep a very close eye on her, and guard her. Knowing as much as she did, the last thing he needed was for her to go to someone else.

And, of course, he would have to punish her for taking away what was rightfully his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> _Atish'alasis'sul fen'harel_ \- This place of peace is Fen'harel's
> 
> * * *
> 
> Well, here is the Solas POV chapter so many people have been asking about! :P It seems to be turning into quite a cat-and-mouse game between the two of them... but who is the hunter, and who is being hunted?
> 
> Side note - I hang out quite a bit on [Tumblr](https://roguelioness.tumblr.com/), and I'm always up for filling prompts! I have a few drabbles there I haven't posted here [yet] so if you're curious, check them out, and come by and say hi :D


	84. Where You Start Does Not Control Where You Finish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Iron Bull comes to a fork in the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Send me prompts or just hang out with me over on [Tumblr!](roguelioness.tumblr.com)

**POV Iron Bull**

He should have seen it coming. All the reports he’d been sending back to his superiors about the Ventori, about Corypheus, and red lyrium… yeah, it would’ve alarmed Par Vollen all right. Last thing they needed was a crazed Tevinter magister trying to take over the world. Plus, the idea of red lyrium in Minrathous, in the midst of all that blood magic? It was bound to create some worry. Rumor was, the Viddasala was conducting her own investigations. He tried not to think about that. He suspected it had something to do with the Inquisitor and the Oracle. Shit. He kinda regretted mentioning Samarra in his reports. He’d done it on the sly, too, despite Red’s stern warning about keeping her out of them. But he figured the Ben-Hassrath deserved to know. Never thought the Viddasala would take an interest. He just hoped they didn’t send a Rasaan to investigate. That would _really_ fuck shit up.

He’d been enjoying his gig so far. A couple of jobs here and there, a chance to learn information… but he’d been away from Par Vollen and Seheron for so long he’d forgotten what it was like to be under the Qun. All the years of being in the Chargers, and he’d come to consider them family. He liked being able to choose. Most of the time he was free to pick what jobs they did, except for the random order from the Ben-Hassrath, and even then, it didn’t quite feel like how it had when he was stationed in Seheron. He liked his life, liked being able to laze about and drink, and overindulge on the occasions he felt like. And now… it seemed as though Par Vollen was finally coming calling.

He’d already passed the information to Red, had been told the Inquisitor was considering the offer. The Qunari and the Inquisition, working together. There was a churning in his gut, and it wasn’t from the ale he’d indulged in last night. No, the Qun was far too different from the philosophies of the south. He’d always thought that maybe the south would be better under the Qun, but lately, over the past year or so, especially with the time he’d spent in the Inquisition… he wasn’t sure. He’d come to see the people who made up the Inquisition as individuals, couldn’t see them as _bas_.

Something about the whole offer had him on edge. It wasn’t like his people to offer alliances; this was the first time they had even made the offer. Either this Corypheus threat really had them on edge, or there was something else going on that he hadn’t been told about. And Bull knew enough about the Ben Hassrath to know that they would _never_ let any one agent have all the information. So what exactly was going on? They’d identified a massive red lyrium shipping operation out on the coast, wanted to join forces with the Inquisition and hit it together. They even mentioned bringing in a dreadnought, which meant that they meant serious business. But their claim of being worried about tipping the smugglers… something was definitely off. They had insisted that only he, his Chargers, the Inquisitor and her companions help out. They adamantly refused to involve the army, or even Red’s scouts.

Again, that uneasy feeling crept over him.

“Hey, Bull,” Helena greeted him as she walked into the tavern, sitting down next to him. Her usually smiling face was replaced with a serious look. “How’s it going?”

He grunted. “Given some thought to the Ben-Hassrath letter?”

She nodded. “Just have a couple of questions. What does this alliance really get us?”

“They wouldn’t use the word alliance if they didn’t mean it,” he said, trying to reassure himself as much as her. “Naval power. More Ben-Hassrath reports. Qunari soldiers pointed at the Venatori… it could do a lot of good.”

She nodded abstractly. “You know, you don’t seem entirely happy about this,” she pointed out.

“No, I’m good,” he said, trying to sound convincing. “It’s, uhh…” he sighed. “I’m used to them being _over there_. It’s been a while.”

She gazed at him with sharp eyes. The Inquisitor, he’d come to learn, was no fool, despite how soft she looked. “I thought the Qunari wanted to extend their reach to the whole world.”

He huffed. “Yeah. Just didn’t think I’d see it.” He broke off, and then started over, trying to find a way to explain how he felt. “Look, the Qun answers a lot of questions. It’s a good life for a lot of people. But… it’s a big change. And a lot of folks here wouldn’t do so well under that kind of life.” He cleared his throat. “I guess it’s not like we’re converting. This is just us joining forces against Corypheus. On that front, I think we’re good,” he tried to convince himself of it, too. It didn’t work.

She mulled it over. There was clearly something on her mind, and he wondered if Samarra had seen anything. “Well,” she said at last. “The Inquisition could always use more allies.”

“Good!” Bull rumbled, although he wasn’t excited about the prospect at all. “I’ll pass word to Red and Cullen. Word is, the smugglers are meeting in two weeks. If we leave in a couple of days, that’ll give us enough time to reach the Storm Coast, meet up with our Qunari contacts, and wrap up this whole mess.”

“I hear they’re bringing in a dreadnought,” she said. “Always was curious to see one of those massive warships. How many people can you guys house in them?” she asked curiously.

“Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but the secret of the Qunari dreadnought is that they don’t have many people in them,” he answered, lowering his voice. “Usually about a dozen. There’s a saarebas and his handler, a couple of men well-versed in gaatlock, and a couple of men to steer the ship. Dreadnaughts are deadly because of the gaatlock, not because they’re well-manned. It’s why they’re slower than most ships.”

“Oh, huh. Interesting.” She chewed her lips nervously, as though she wasn’t sure if she should ask what she clearly wanted to. “Bull,” she said haltingly. “I know the Qunari… aren’t fond of mages. If this alliance goes through… do I have to worry about them, you know, trying to leash all the mages we have here?”

It was a thought that had crossed his mind, too. If any of his people ever came to Skyhold they would be horrified at the sight of so many mages freely walking around. They might even consider it grounds for launching an invasion into the south. Still, he didn’t think his people were foolish enough to do that in the midst of a much bigger threat. “Nah, I think it’ll be fine, boss. They aren’t going to kick up a fuss when Corypheus is still around to be dealt with.”

She relaxed imperceptibly. “Good to know. I’m rather fond of our mages.”

He tried not to picture Dalish kitted out in the heavy, imprisoning gear of the Saarebas.

“Okay, then,” she said at length, getting up and stretching her limbs. It was a pity she’d gone for the Commander, he thought. She was quite a looker. “I’ll put together a team, and we can head out in a couple of days. Get the Chargers ready, too.”

“Sure, I’ll do that.” He frowned. “Hey, boss? Word of advice. Don’t take Samarra along. Rumor is, there are people up in Par Vollen curious about her.”

Her lips thinned, forming a razor sharp line. “Noted,” she said, giving him a sharp, intense look that had him squirming slightly. He’d come to learn that the Inquisitor was fiercely protective of the Oracle, a sentiment that went both ways. He _really_ regretted telling Par Vollen about Samarra, but kept that bit of information to himself. No point in raising hackles now, not when there were things to do. Besides, Samarra was capable of taking care of herself… right?

* * *

They waited at the predetermined meeting point, waiting for their Qunari contact. His Chargers were scattered through the background, hidden away amidst the vegetation. Helena paced impatiently, and he was on edge. The Qunari were never late for meetings. What was going on?

Helena had brought her entire Inner Circle with her, leaving quiet instructions with the twin Champions to keep an eye on Samarra. Tempers were a little frayed, not just as because of the meeting with the Qunari. Bull knew that several of the Inquisitor’s companions had qualms about the alliance, with Varric having warned Helena about the mess at Kirkwall. Solas and Dorian had been equally vocal in their opposition. Cassandra had been wary, but seemed willing to see where it went; the others were neutral.

A rustling in the distance had them all unsheathing their weapons. Barriers were raised and dropped over their party, and Bull tensed slightly as he felt the magic on his skin. He’d always been uncomfortable with magic, and had only become used to Dalish’s barriers. This one felt strange, but he thought he recognized it as Dorian’s. He grinned to himself. He’d been flirting unashamedly with the Tevinter mage for sometime, and it had only been very recently that the man had thawed in his behavior towards him. That Dorian had thought of placing a barrier over him boded well.

“That must be our Qunari contact,” he said in a low voice.

“It is,” a familiar voice said, and a figure stepped out of the shadows.

“Gatt!” he exclaimed, pleased to see a familiar face. He relaxed considerably. Gatt was a friend. If the Ben-Hassrath had sent him as the Qunari contact, it was a good thing.

“Good to see you again, Hissrad,” Gatt grinned.

“Last I heard, you were in Seheron!”

The elf gave him a wry look. “They finally decided I’d calmed down enough to go back out into the world.”

He turned towards Helena. “Boss, this is Gatt. We worked together in Seheron.”

“Pleasure meeting you, Inquisitor,” Gatt said politely. “Hissrad’s reports say you’re doing good work.”

“It’s been a team effort,” Helena replied in the same fashion. “Nice to meet you, Gatt. How about we get moving along?”

“Right,” Gatt said briskly. “We need to make sure this red lyrium doesn’t reach Minrathous. With the stuff, the Vints could turn their slaves into an army of magical freaks. We could lose Seheron, and the south could see a giant Tevinter army marching down.”

“Strange that the Qunari weren’t interested in Corypheus until the red lyrium issue came up,” Varric said a little bitterly.

“The Ben-Hassrath have been keeping an eye on things from the start. I’m sure if the Inquisition hadn’t come along, the Qunari would have dealt with things their own way,” Gatt said neutrally.

“Right, let’s keep the bickering to a minimum, shall we?” Helena ordered. “We’ve got a job to do.”

Gatt nodded. “Our dreadnought is safely out of view, and out of reach of any Venatori mages on shore. We’ll need to eliminate the Ventori, then signal the dreadnought in so it can come and take out the smuggler ship.”

“What do you think, Bull?” Helena turned towards him. He puffed up a little, pleased to be able to give his input. “Hmmm. Don’t know. Never liked covering a dreadnought run, too many ways for crap to go wrong. If the number of Venatori have been underestimated, we’re dead. If we can’t lock down the Venatori mages, the dreadnought is dead. It’s risky.”

He watched her turn her attention back to Gatt. “Given that the Qunari objected to Inquisition scouts exploring the area, I hope that your people haven’t underestimated enemy numbers. I’m going to be really, really pissed if I lose anyone today, Gatt.”

The elf stiffened. “My people have done their best,” he said rigidly.

“There are probably mages on the smuggling ship. Can the dreadnought handle them?” Helena questioned.

“There aren’t going to be more than two or three on the ship, and they’ll be dead by the third shot,” Gatt explained. “From shore, though, a half-dozen mages attacking a dreadnought from cover could deal some massive damage.”

“Got it. What’s the plan?”

“There are two locations the Venatori are camped out to guard the shore.” Gatt began. “Here, and here,” he said, circling two areas on a map. We’ll need to split up and hit both at once.”

Bull turned to Helena. “Should be fairly straightforward. I’ll come with you; Krem can lead the Chargers.”

“Sounds like a plan, Bull,” she replied, but he could see a flicker of worry and unease in her eyes, and pondered the cause. He walked over to his men, explaining their task, and giving them their location. He had a soft spot for them; they were his people, after all, and Krem was like a son to him, although he’d never admit it to anyone. He watched his men head off in the other direction, the one further away from shore, and less likely to face heavy resistance, a fact noted by Gatt who teased him about it.

They made their way to the second location, Gatt and him leading the party. There were quite a few Venatori mages in their path, but they were easily taken down; for all the mages power, they weren’t particularly good at defending themselves against a sharp blade or a pointed arrow, and the mages in their party did a damn good job of keeping barriers up, if he said so himself.

Finally, they reached the cliff edge where the Venatori were camped out. After a brief, fierce battle, the campsite was claimed by the Inquisitor. Bull gave the all-clear signal to Gatt, who lit the signal fire for the dreadnought.

“Chargers already sent theirs up,” he said to no one in particular, pride in his tone. “See ‘em down there?” he pointed out his men to Helena.

“They did a good job,” she said, a smile on her face. “You’ve got a good team, Bull.”

“That I do, boss,” he agreed. “There’s the dreadnought,” he alerted their party to the massive ship that was pulling closer to shore. Missiles fired from the ship in a blaze of flame, and he laughed as he observed the gaatlock cannons hit their target accurately. He was pleased. Everything had gone off without a hitch. He’d been worrying for no use…

“Crap,” Helena muttered, and he immediately swung his head to the direction she was looking at. He cursed inwardly. The Qunari scouts had underestimated the Venatori numbers, after all. There were a dozen of them emerging from the forests, heading towards the Chargers. His men were good at fighting, but it was usually the hand-to-hand kind. They had little training in facing mages, and Dalish wouldn’t be able to keep them all safe. All the Venatori had to do was attack his men from a distance, and they’d all crumble like a house of cards.

The Chargers had seen the new threat. He saw Krem and the others pull out their weapons and take up positions.

“The Chargers can’t stand against that kind of force!” Helena exclaimed.

“No, they can’t,” he muttered.

“Your men need to hold that position, Bull,” Gatt commanded.

He spun around to face Gatt, fury on his face. “They do that, they’re dead,” he growled.

“And if they don’t, the Venatori retake it, and the dreadnought is dead,” Gatt countered calmly, and for a moment he hated the elf. “You’d be throwing away an alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari,” Gatt threatened. “You’d be declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth!”

He turned away, unsure. It wasn’t his call to make. It was the Inquisitor’s decision. He could only obey, like he’d done for years. If he chose to save his men, he would be banished from the Qun, become no better than the monsters he’d hunted back in Seheron, the ones who had mercilessly killed innocent young children. Without the Qun, he would turn into one of them, would give into the madness that he constantly worried about, the  bloodlust that lingered around the edges of his mind.

Gatt continued, trying to persuade him to sacrifice his men, but all he could feel was a ball of lead in the pit of his stomach. These were his men. How could he just throw them away? They all looked up to him, they obeyed him without hesitation, they _trusted_ him. And now he was supposed to sacrifice them, or be thrown away from his country.

“They’re my men,” he said helplessly, and Gatt’s eyes flickered with some sympathy.

“I know. But you need to do what’s right for this alliance, and for the Qun.”

He turned towards Helena, a plea in his eyes. What could he do? What was he supposed to do? This was never supposed to happen! Things were never supposed to work out this way!

“Your call, boss,” he said in a low voice.

Helena straightened, and looked him straight in the eye. “No, Bull,” she said to his surprise. “This is your decision. What do you want?” she asked.

He hesitated, so torn and confused, watching as the Venatori got closer to his men.

“Bull,” she said softly, placing a hand on his arm. “Sometimes the family we make is more important than the family we’re born in.” Her voice was filled with understanding, and in that instant he knew that Helena wouldn’t judge him for being selfish. He understood what the Inquisitor was trying to say. That as long as he had his men, his Chargers, he need never fear being alone.

He made his decision.

Raising the horn to his lips, he called the retreat, even as Gatt implored him not to. Something in him broke at the knowledge he would now be declared Tal-Vashoth, but it was mingled with a sense of peace as he observed his men - his _family_ \- pulling back to safety.

Gatt was furious. “All these years, Hissrad, and you throw away all that you are. For what? For this? For _them_?” he spat, pointing at the Inquisitor.

“His name,” Helena said calmly, heat in her eyes, “is _Iron Bull_.”

Gatt shook his head in disgust. “I suppose it is.” he said bitterly, and walked away from their group.

He watched remorsefully as the Venatori mages reclaimed the shore, and began their attack on the dreadnought. “No way they’ll get out of range,” he sighed. “Won’t be long now.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Helena said cheerfully, and he turned towards her, puzzled.

A volley of arrows whizzed through the air from the sides of the cliff, striking the Venatori mages, who had no time to react. Inquisition scouts poured out of a hidden cave at the base of the cliff, and in several minutes the Venatori mages lay scattered about on the shore, dead. The dreadnought resumed its attack on the smuggling ship, which was soon blown to smithereens, and pulled out back to sea.

Gatt never came back.

“You knew,” he said, turning to the Inquisitor, understanding dawning. “You knew what would happen.”

She nodded slightly. “We’ll talk about it later. Let’s get you out of here, get you back to your boys, okay?”

He nodded.

Later that night at the Inquisition camp, he approached her again. “Gatt never returned,” he said quietly. “There’s been no word from the Ben-Hassrath. I assume that despite saving the dreadnought, I haven’t been forgiven for my decision.”

“No,” Helena said quietly. “I’m sorry, Bull.”

“You want to tell me about it now?”

“Samarra warned me,” she said simply. “Said the alliance was worth shit - no offence, Bull - but that it was meant as a test for you. They wanted to know where your loyalties were.”

“And this was how they tested me,” he caught on immediately. “Either I obey the Qun, or I don’t.”

“Exactly,” she affirmed.

“What would have happened had I chosen to sacrifice the Chargers?” he asked quietly.

“I wouldn’t have let you,” she said slowly. “But I’d have kicked you out of the Inquisition. Samarra was adamant about that. She said if you chose to stay with the Qun, you were a threat to everyone in the Inquisition.”

“If you had a backup plan, why’d you make me make the decision?” he demanded. “Why’d you take out the Vints, save the dreadnought?”

“Why did you think I agreed to this in the first place?” she countered. “I knew, right from the start, that the alliance was shit. I did this for _you_ , Bull. We both did. Don’t you see?” she said gently, “This was your chance to decide whether you wanted to live a life _for yourself_ , or to live a life under someone else’s yoke. You have _family_ , Bull, people who trust you and who care for you. Isn’t it better to live a life with them, instead of blindly obeying orders you may or may not be comfortable with? As for the dreadnought, I thought it was best that the Inquisition not do anything that could be perceived as an attack by the Qunari. A bit of political bullshit. I also thought it was a good idea to stop the red lyrium smuggling ring.”

“This is my life you’re playing with,” he growled.

She sighed. “Say what you will, Bull, but at the end of the day, it was _you_ who made the decision. For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.” She turned towards Krem who was walking towards them. “Nice work taking down those Vints,” she said with a smile. “For a moment, I was worried the fight was a bit dicey.”

“We knew you and the Chief had our backs, your Worship,” Krem replied. Bull felt guilty. The man would never know the moments of indecision Bull had faced, would never know that Bull had come close to sacrificing him. In that moment, Bull knew for certain that no matter what the future brought… he’d made the right call.

“The lads are wondering when you’ll be joining us, Chief,” Krem rumbled. “Rocky brought some of the good stuff with him.”

“I’ll be there in a bit,” he replied. “Just wrapping some things up here.”

Krem nodded, and gave them their privacy.

“You know that they’d give their lives for you, right?” Helena said. “I’m sure the Chargers all believe in the Inquisition in their own way, but you and me both know that they care because you care.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“She did this for you, Bull.” The Inquisitor sounded unusually quiet. “She told me, I had to go with you. She said this was important for you. She knew this would happen even before I recruited you. She knew you were Ben-Hassrath, had warned us about it, but she still insisted I recruit you. Said there was a chance for you to live a life of your own choice, and that you needed the opportunity to make that decision.”

There was a strange lump in his throat. “What else did she say?” he asked gruffly.

“They’ll send assassins after you. And poison. Saar-something, she said.”

“Saar-qamek,” he supplied.

“Yeah, that. Said you might want to start taking the antidote.”

“I’ll do that.,” he mumbled absently.

She sighed. “Hang on a moment,” she said. He watched her enter her tent, heard her rummaging through her pack. She returned with a slip of paper. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “Samarra wanted me to give this to you. If, you know, you made the right decision.”

He took the scrap of paper from her. The seeress’ neat script, in Common, jumped out at him: _You acted like a Tal-Vashoth for years. That didn’t change you. Neither does this. If you want something to believe in, believe this - you’re_ _not_ _a Tal-Vashoth. That’s a qunari word, and you don’t follow the Qun any longer. You’re Iron Bull, captain of the Chargers, mercenary captain for the Inquisition, and you’re a good man._

He crumpled up the paper in his fist, a warmth in his chest.

“Boss,” he addressed Helena. “Whatever I miss, whatever I regret… _this_ is where I want to be. Whenever you need an ass kicked… the Iron Bull is with you.”

“Glad to hear that, Bull,” Helena said with a grin. “Now, I’m ordering you to join your men. I believe they have a bottle with your name on it!”

“I’ll do that. Thanks, boss.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Bull's quest is one of my favorite ones, because it really makes you, the Inquisitor, choose between your duty, and people you care about. As Inquisitor, your priority needs to be the Inquisition, and an alliance with the Qunari, and all the resources they offer, is certainly a very attractive package, and one that would greatly benefit the Inquisition. On the other hand... the Chargers are people you _know_ , people who've fought by your side. No matter what call you make, people die.
> 
> It makes me wonder if this is the dev's way of providing a hat-tip to what Solas faces... I can see so many parallels.
> 
> I have never, ever, _ever_ sacrificed the Chargers. I can't do it. Because I fully believe the Qunari meant this as a test for Bull, which is why they fucked up on the Venatori numbers. I mean, they have so many spies, and so much information, how would they not know how many mages there were? Especially given the Inquisition presence in the Storm Coast! It's all just very fishy to me.


	85. * Who Is The Lamb, And Who Is The Knife?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is the Oracle letting her judgement fail her?
> 
> _**NSFW** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.

She waited at the gates, eager to catch a glimpse of Helena. The Inquisitor had sent a maddeningly vague message to Leliana: ‘Tell the Oracle that things have been taken care of.’ What the hell did that mean? Did Bull choose to sacrifice the Chargers? Or had he sided with his men?

In a few minutes, she had her answer.

A massive, grey, horned figure could be seen in the distance. Samarra watched with bated breath as they got closer to the gates, a huge smile on her face. Bull’s eye caught sight of her figure, and he grinned down at her. When the party had dismounted, he made his way over to her, wrapping his arms tightly around her and lifting her up. “I hear it’s your fault I’m Tal-Vashoth now,” he said, but there was no malice in the words. The rest of the Chargers hooted and laughed at her red face, and her ineffectual struggle to get him to put her down.

Finally, she gave up and swatted at his shoulders. “I’m happy to see you and the Chargers, Bull,” she said, a smile in her voice.

“Glad to be back,” he rumbled. “The boys were getting antsy. Stitches has been whining, something about discussing magical injuries with you.” He shook his head. “You trying to take my men away from me, little wolf?”

She chuckled. “Oh, most definitely.”

“Well, you gotta show Dalish your bow. She won’t let off about it.” Said person was sputtering and had turned beet red. She turned towards the elf with a grin. “Of course. Us bow-users gotta stick together, right?”

The Chargers laughed.

“I’ll see you later in the tavern, right?” she said to Bull.

“Drinks are on me,” he promised.

“Great,” she beamed.

A slap on her butt had her turning around indignantly. She grinned when she saw it was Helena. “So…?” she asked.

“Went off according to plan. We took out the smuggling ring, didn’t give the Qunari a reason to get pissed off at us, and redeemed Bull.”

“All in a day’s work for the Inquisitor,” she teased.

Helena swatted her playfully. “Hush, you. Ugh, there’s  _ so much more _ to do!”

They began walking to the main keep. “What’s next on the agenda?” Samarra asked quietly.

“I have to get to the Exalted Plains soon,” Helena replied glumly. “Josephine says if I help out Celene and Gaspard’s troops, we have a better chance of getting an invite to that ball. She’s trying to use her connections, but nothing’s come up so far. Even Vivienne hasn’t been able to help.”

“I’ll help you out,” she promised. “War table meeting?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Helena confirmed.

“What else?”

“We’ve been getting reports of darkspawn in the Storm Coast. I’m planning to send a troop of Wardens to fight them. Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. Don’t think twice about it.”

They caught sight of a pale, nervous looking elf waiting at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the keep. White blond hair fell shaggily around his ears. He bore June’s vallaslin on his face, the tattoo deep brown and stark against the paleness of his skin. Eyes of a murky amber brown looked worriedly upon the world. His build was willowy, but there was a strength to his fingers that let Samarra know he was an archer. Numerous tiny scars on his body indicated a life spent in the woods.

Something told her it was important to talk to him.

“Hello,” she said with a smile, stepping towards him. “I’m Samarra, and this here is the Inquisitor. You seemed troubled,  _ da’len _ .” He started at her use of the elven phrase. “What can we do for you?”

“Is this a good idea?” Helena muttered into her ear.

“You… you are the Oracle they talk about?” he asked almost reverentially.

“I… uh…” she stared helplessly at Helena.

“She is,” the brunette had no qualms replying.

He stepped forward, shaking with excitement - or was it nervousness? Samarra couldn’t tell - and burst out. “My name is Mahanon. Of Clan Lavellan. We…”

“Say no more,” Samarra ordered. “Your clan is camped out near Wycome, are you not? And you have come under attack from bandits?”

He raised wide, frightened eyes to her. “Yes,” he confirmed. “But how did you…”

“She is a seeress,” Helena said with a smile.

Samarra did not smile. “We must act quickly,” she said seriously. “Mahanon, isn’t it? Come with us.” The young man seemed to spur into action at her tone, and walked with them in silence. She diverted them into the rotunda - it was close by, and offered them a good amount of privacy. Mahanon’s eyes flickered with interest over the murals, and he stepped towards them in fascination.

“Mahanon!” she snapped. He spun around, startled. “Tell us everything you know.”

“We are not your typical Dalish clan,” Mahanon began. “We have always openly traded with the human, have respected your kind. With the chaos, we settled in a small, unclaimed valley not far from Wycome, where we were not unwelcome for a while. Now, suddenly, we have been attacked by bandits for weeks. The raiders are well-armed and heavily armored, and they come in numbers our hunters cannot match. We are helpless, your Worship,” he said in a trembling voice. “We cannot move for fear of the rifts nearby. Yet if we stay, we put ourselves in danger. My Keeper sent me to ask the Inquisition for help. We have heard you champion the cause of the weak.”

Helena’s face grew grim at his words. “You have my help, Mahanon,” she promised. She looked at Samarra. “What do you think I should do?”

“I know what is happening,” Samarra said grimly, “although I did not expect it to happen. The need for action is urgent and immediate. Ask Leliana to get her scouts to harass the bandits. It will give Clan Lavellan a chance to withdraw to a safer place.” She looked at Lavellan. “This is only a temporary measure, you understand. We need time to investigate what is happening, and deal with it accordingly. Inform Keeper Deshanna that help is on the way.”

“How did you know my Keeper’s name?” he asked suspiciously.

She sighed. “Mahanon, this is not the time for questions. Helena, you should take him to Leliana, he can give her information about the area that might be of help, and you might need to give further instructions.”

The Inquisitor nodded.

“We will help you, Mahanon Lavellan,” she said gently, trying to reassure the young man. “Don’t worry. I promise you your clan will come to no harm. Neither the Inquisitor nor I will allow it.”

“Thank you, your Worship,” he said gratefully to Helena as they walked towards the rookery.  

She sighed as she watched them leave, settling heavily on one of the couches in the room, her head in her hands.  _ Okay, think carefully. The Lavellan war table missions were really, really delicate. One wrong move and the entire clan is decimated. _

_ Right. Sending in the scouts will help. Jester will discover Duke Antoine is behind the whole thing, so I’ll have to ask Leliana to investigate the Duke. Since we picked Leliana… after that it’s Josie’s ambassadors who will uncover the red lyrium crystals in the wells. Then it’s Leliana’s turn again, right? Right. Cullen is last. He comes in when we need to fortify Wycome against the Free Marcher army. _

_ You know… _

_ Yeah, I know. Elves being treated shittily, let the world burn? _

_ I mean, if you heard that humans were being treated that way by the elves, wouldn’t you kind of want to burn down the world and save your people? _

_ Hey, I want to save everyone. That’s more important. _

_ All I’m saying is, you can kind of understand Solas’ anger. _

_ Never said I didn’t. Just don’t agree with his kill-everyone plan. _

“I see you have found yet another stray to help.” The voice had her raising her head slowly.

“He’s not a stray,” she said quietly. “He’s here on behalf of his clan.”

Solas quirked a brow. “A Dalish clan approaching a human-lead Inquisition for help? That seems unlikely. Perhaps there is something else they want.”

“Perhaps the Inquisition’s reputation for helping everyone in need regardless of race has reached them,” she said calmly rising from the couch.

“The Inquisition’s reputation,” he drawled, “or yours?”

She shrugged. “The Inquisitor’s of course. Helena has been nothing but kind to everyone.”

“One wonders if she would be the same way were it not for the influence of a certain person.”

“Is that what you think?” she chuckled, but it sounded forced. “That isn’t true in the least. I can’t influence someone’s character. Helena is kind because that is her nature.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“What did he want?” Solas asked, curious.

“His clan is being attacked by bandits. They fear being decimated as a result of the repeated attacks. He was sent by his Keeper to approach the Inquisition for help.”

“And Helena was ready to help him? Just like that? Nothing asked in return?”

“Do you really have such a poor opinion of the Inquisitor and the Inquisition, Solas?” she asked quietly.

He gave a small smile. “I did not mean to offend. I admit I am rather jaded. It is not often to find a human freely willing to help my kind with nothing expected in return.”

She stared at him. “When you put it that way, I suppose it can seem strange, but surely, you know how Helena is by now. Why would you doubt her?”

“It is not her I was referring to,” he said quietly, stepping towards her. “You are a puzzle, Samarra,” He made her name sound exotic, exciting. It made her want to melt. “Would you do that for everyone?” he asked quietly, taking another step towards her. “Is there anyone you would refuse your generosity, your mercy?”

She swallowed, taking a step back from the intensity in his gaze. “You make me sound like some kind of deity,” she whispered.

“Are you not?” he countered softly, crowding her against the plaster-covered wall.

“No,” she said, unable to take her eyes off his. There was something in his face, a hidden emotion, that made her heart lurch and twist with a strange wanting.

She ached. She wanted. She… needed.

She knew he was dangerous, that it was dangerous to  _ want _ so desperately, but… she was helpless.

He made her heart helpless against the force of nature that was his existence.

“That cannot be true,” he challenged, and dipped his head towards hers.

When his lips met hers, it was soft, gentle and tender. There was no intense, unbearable heat; rather, embers glowed pleasantly, spreading a warmth through her. He swept his tongue over her lips, persuasive, and she opened up to him, allowing him to deepen the kiss. Even so, there was no rough claiming; it was sweet and affectionate, and she felt her heart slowly flip over and turn.

How was she to guard herself against this?

He lifted his head, and she saw a kind of vulnerability in his eyes, “Will you come with me?” he asked quietly, a hidden fear lurking in the depths of his gaze, and she understood he feared she would turn him down. She didn’t know what had happened to make him feel this way, but… she knew he needed affection. Needed to be held.

Needed to know he was not alone.

This was where the road forked. If she went with him, things would never be the same between them. She would make her heart, make herself vulnerable to him. Deny him, and she could protect herself. Her rational mind screamed at her to walk away, that this would lead to complications, could make things worse.

But her heart was in agony at the sight of him looking down at her, his face a neutral mask while deep in his eyes lurked a lonely man, scared and vulnerable. This was Solas - kind hearted, helping quietly in the background. Solas, who she conversed with, and held animated discussions with. Solas, who taught her how to wield her magic, Solas, whose smile lit up the room around him, whose aura beckoned invitingly, Solas, the man whose quiet thoughtfulness and intelligence and generosity had always tugged at her and pulled her to him...

She placed her hand in his.

His face turned soft, his eyes gentle. He lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed her fingers sweetly, one at a time. She followed him up the stairs; the voices in her head were quiet. Her heart, too, was lighter than it had been in a long time.

They entered his room, and he shut the door quietly behind them, his eyes uncertain as he locked it. She smiled up reassuringly at him, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

For now, for this moment, she pushed away all other thoughts from her head. He was not an ancient god, bent on destroying this world to restore his own; she wasn’t an ignorant outsider determined to stop him. He was simply Solas, just a quiet, kind, intelligent man. And she was Samarra, just a regular, unremarkable woman.

“Solas,” she said quietly. Though she enjoyed the way his name sounded on her tongue, it wasn’t enough. “ _ Fenor _ .” She could no more help the endearment that burst from her than she could the beating of her heart, or the rush of air into and out of her lungs.

In any case… that sounded better to her ears.

He groaned softly, and captured her lips then, desperate and needy and yearning, but he was still gentle. There was a reverence in the way he kissed her, as though he did not quite believe she was there in his arms, as though he feared she would vanish at any moment. She felt herself sinking into it, her body warming up, muscles relaxing and loosening.

_ Fenor _ . It lingered in the air, surrounded them.

He slipped his hands under her tunic, slowly pulling it off, and she let him. He pressed kisses to each inch of flesh exposed, soft, delicate brushes of lips against skin, like butterfly wings. She felt herself becoming languid, felt her eyelids becoming heavy as the warmth turned to pleasure.

_ Fenor _ . It was in his eyes, on her skin. His breath. Her breath.

He gripped her waist, gentle, oh, so gentle. He moved her backwards, till her legs hit the bed, and then she tumbled into it, and he was falling with her, on her, that smile on his face, that smile she never wanted him to lose, that smile she wouldn’t mind selling her soul for.

So lost in the haze of pleasure was she, she barely noticed him taking off the rest of her clothing, or his. Soon they were pressed together, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. He ran his hands down the length of her, his eyes never straying from hers. She whimpered as his long, slender fingers plucked her nipples, a quiet, pleased laugh reverberating through him as she moaned and trembled at his touches.

“You undo me,” he whispered, the confession forced out unwillingly from him as he parted her slick folds, seeking out her hidden bud. He circled her clit with her fingers, not letting her hide her face, her reactions to his touch, and she felt exposed, vulnerable, but, strangely, she didn’t feel a need to hide, wanted him to see what he made her feel. He slipped one finger into her tight heat, then two, slowly coaxing her to completion. Satisfied, he then moved down her body, covering her mound with his mouth, and she keened softly. She could feel him chuckling against the heat of her, the vibration of it increasing the sensitivity of her nerves. Then he pressed his tongue against her clit, lapped at her gently, and she lost her mind.

“ _ Fenor, _ ” she cried out as he wrung one orgasm after another from her, till she was reduced to nothing but a mass of quivering flesh, muscles trembling. “Solas,” she called out when she was able to speak again. “Solas,” she said again, a plea in her voice.

“ _ Ame amahn _ ,  _ ma’fenor _ ,” he said soothingly, moving up, claiming her lips. She could taste herself on him, and it was unbearably erotic. “Solas,’ she ground her hips against his. He growled as his arousal was covered in her slick. He placed a hand under her knee, raising her leg, and slowly, gently, entered her, covering her mouth with his to silence her shockingly loud moan. When he was fully sheathed in her, he stayed like that for several moments, body trembling with the effort of not moving.

“Look at me, Samarra,  _ da’assan, _ ” he urged, and her heavy-lidded eyes flew open at his needy command. “I want to see you as I take you,  _ fenor” _ , he whispered, and she shuddered at the affection in his tone. He began to move, long, slow strokes that she could feel every inch of him claiming her. Even when his hips snapped against her, fast and furious, even when the pleasure threatened to overwhelm her, threatened to drown her, she kept her eyes fixed to his, hypnotized by his eyes.

She watched the emotions flicker across his face. Fear. Joy. Desire. Need. Pleasure. Pride. Possession.

His breathing grew erratic, his thrusts sharp and shallow. “ _ Garas sul’ma, fenor _ ,” he urged, sliding his hand down, seeking out the little button that would unravel her completely. Those slender, magical fingers of his stroked her clit, and she sobbed as she flew high, straight into the sun. Her eyes still remained open, more to watch him than to let him see her. His jaw was clenched tight, pupils blown open in pleasure. One thrust, two, and then he followed her off the cliff, his cry the most beautiful thing she’d heard, his face a mask of pleasure that would forever be embedded in her memory.

Panting, eyes still open, hearts thundering, they stared at each other, and then he rolled to the side, still hilted in her. He nuzzled at her neck, whispering soft elven endearments against her skin. She closed her eyes at last, feeling his magic slide across her skin, feeling hers reach out and brush against it.

The word still hovered in the air.  _ Fenor _ .

She knew what they had between them was irrevocably changed. Knew she was now laid bare, exposed, defenseless. The thought made her fear for herself, and he must have sensed it intuitively, for he kissed her again, a slow, tender one. Wordlessly, he carried her in his arms to the bathtub, filling it with warm water, and cleaning her body gently, as though she were made of glass. She pulled him in to join her, wanting to repay the favor. Clean, dried, covered in his scent, he carried her back to his bed, placing her delicately on the mattress, a question in his eyes.

She gazed out of the window. The sun had set long ago, and she hadn’t even noticed. She thought of Bull and the Chargers, waiting to celebrate with her in the tavern. Thought of Helena, wanting her advice on a variety of matters. She knew there were many people who would welcome her company, would greet her with wide smiles and cheery voices.

Then she looked at the elf, standing quietly above her, waiting for an answer to his unspoken question. There was a yearning in his eyes.

_ He needs me the most, _ she realized.

She reached out and tugged at his arm, and he slid into bed next to her gratefully, gathering her up in his arms and holding her close to him. “Thank you,” he murmured into her hair, arms tightening around her midsection as though even now he feared she would change her mind. Being in his room, in his bed, in his arms did not feel strange or awkward; it felt comfortable, and safe, and… like home.

They were awake for a long time, talking quietly between themselves, discussing a wide range of topics, teasing, joking, laughing with each other. And when he grew hard against her belly, it was she who pressed her lips to his and welcomed him into her body.

When the sun rose, it light up a room where a man slumbered peacefully, holding a woman whose hand covered his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> _Fenor_ \- precious
> 
> _Ame amahn, ma fenor_ \- I'm here, my precious
> 
> _Garas sul ma_ \- come for me
> 
> * * *
> 
> What's going on? Is Samarra losing it? Is Solas playing games? WHO KNOWS... _dun dun dunnnn_
> 
> I'm making it a ThingTM that Dalish and Samarra are besties who talk shop constantly about bows and the best ways to use them, lol. [In the comics, Dalish's staff looks very much like a bow! Which is super cool, considering the straight nature of most staffs in the game]
> 
> I meant to post this chapter earlier, but I've been lazy, sorry! Next chapter will go up on time :D


	86. Small Cogs Are Part Of The Whole Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bits and pieces of the people at Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency - Weekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I'm sorry I wasn't able to put up a chapter last week! I've had a few rough mental health days, and I needed some time off. I'll be back to regular schedule next week!  
> I'm trying something new this chapter - I usually use hovertext for non-english languages, but I know it doesn't work on mobile platforms, and I haven't really been able to find a solution. I'm including the translation along with the phrase this time - please let me know how you feel about it!

“So, what happened to meeting us last night?” Bull asked her, a teasing glint in his eye.

“I got a little involved in some Inquisition business,” she lied apologetically. “Lost track of time.”

He grunted.

They sat in silence, enjoying the new brew that Flissa had come up with. Said barkeep was hidden away in a corner, talking to Giles, a blush on her face. She grinned to herself. Giles was madly in love with the human, and the barkeep adored him too. The elf had confessed to her that if it wasn’t for the fact that they were at war, he’d have asked her to marry him.

Her romantic heart had thrilled at that.

“Look, Bull,” she said, setting her tankard down. “I know you aren’t fond of the mushy stuff, but unfortunately for you, I kind of am. So you’ll have to bear with me on this.” She turned to him and hugged as much of him as she was able to reach. “I’m so glad you’re finally free,” she mumbled, then let go. “And that’s it, I’m done. Well, almost. How do you feel?”

He looked uncomfortable, but then he glanced over to where Krem was bashfully flirting with Ashalle, and a soft look came into his eye. “Can’t believe I’m Tal-Vashoth, but… can’t say I regret my decision.”

“Bull, I already told you. You’re not tal-vashoth…”

“...cause I don’t follow the Qun, yeah, heard that bit before,” he grinned at her.

“Well, excuse me for trying to help,” she stuck out her tongue.

“Little wolf, I think you’ve done more than your share.”

She grinned. “You think so?”

He shot her an unamused look. “What do you think?”

She took another sip of the honey-flavored mead.

“So, what’s going on between you and the elf?”

She sputtered, choking on the mouthful of mead. Coughing, she said, “Me and Solas? What?”

His face was knowing. “Ben-Hassrath, remember? Well, former. I’ve got the training, I can see these things.”

She laughed, trying to shrug off his questioning. “Bull, there have been rumors about Solas and me right from Haven. But there’s nothing between us.”

“You might think that,” he said seriously, “but does he know?”

“He should,” she said calmly. “I’ve told him as such.”

He whistled. “Bet he didn’t like that.”

“Actually, he didn’t,” she grinned. “What brought on this line of questioning, anyway?” she asked, curious.

“Call it an instinct, but… I gotta tell you, there’s something…  _ off _ … about the elf.” he replied somberly.

“You think so?” she commented.

“Oh, yeah. Look, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It isn’t friendly, little wolf. Haven’t you noticed that you’re the only person he even treats as somewhat an equal? Looks down his nose at the rest of us, and not in the way Dorian does, either. I’m telling you, there’s something about him,” Bull warned. “He’s not good for you, little wolf. You should keep your distance. Now, the Warden on the other hand…” he grinned cheekily. “There’s potential there.”

She flushed at the reference to Alistair, but her mind was still worried about the warning he’d given her about Solas. If Bull had noticed something… maybe she really needed to be on guard, needed to be more careful, more wary.

And she’d just spend the night with him. Had opened herself up to him, made herself vulnerable to him.  _ Shit. Was it all just an act? _ It hadn’t felt that way. He’d… he’d been so gentle, so affectionate. He called her  _ fenor _ …

_ But what if… what if it was just his way of getting you to open up to him? _

She didn’t have an answer to that.

He noted the slight slump of her shoulders, the uncertainty on her brow, and understood. “He’s taken you to bed, hasn’t he?” he stated quietly.

She gave him a startled look, eyes darting around the room, worried they’d be overheard. He patted her hand reassuringly. “No one’s around, don’t worry.”

She sighed, shoulders slumping further in defeat. “Is it so obvious?” she muttered.

“Only if you’ve been trained like I have,” he joked.

She was quiet. “He has,” she confirmed quietly, as though admitting to a terrible secret. “You are not the only one who had noticed something different about Solas, Bull,” she continued, her voice weary. “I know I should be wary. And yet…” she sighed. “There is  _ something _ between us, some connection, a link I cannot deny,” she said, flustered and irritated.

“Is it some sort of magic thing?” he inquired interestedly.

“I don’t know… maybe? Technically, all mages can sense each other, especially if they don’t hide their aura. But this… this doesn’t  _ feel _ like that.”

He looked worried. “Be careful, little wolf. He is the kind to exploit any weakness,” he cautioned her.

“Bull,” she asked haltingly. “Have you ever worried about… something so intense it… drives you to madness?”

He nodded understandingly. “Worry about it all the time,” he muttered. “Without the qun to live by…”

“You’ll still be fine,” she said a tad sharply. “You’re still the guy who gave up an eye to defend someone helpless and innocent. You’re not likely to go mad, not with those kind of morals.”

He stiffened. “I don’t think I told you that story,” he remarked casually.

She smiled at him. “Bull, come on. This is me we’re talking about, yes?”

“Fair point,” he said, relaxing. “So. You’re worried this thing you have with the elf will drive you to madness?”

She nodded unhappily. “I worry…” she said haltingly… “that… that it will lead me astray.”

“Little wolf,” he said in a calm voice, “as long as you’re aware of the danger, you can always avoid it.”

That forced a weak grin out of her. “I guess you’re right.”

“So, this is the first time we’ve had a heart-to-heart conversation,” he joked. “This calls for a drink!”

“I thought that was what we were doing already?” she remarked wryly. “Besides, I’ve been waiting for  _ ages _ for you to become tal-vashoth so that I could finally become  _ real _ friends with you,” she said with a wink and a cheeky grin.

He guffawed. “Is that meant to cheer me up, little wolf?” He raised his hand, signalling to the bartender. “We’ll have to have another. Cabot!” he bellowed. “Another mug of whatever the little lady’s having. On me!”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly like I could confide in you before,” she laughed.

“When I was still part of the Ben-Hassrath, you mean?”

“Yeah. You’d have probably ended up reporting everything back to them.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, I would’ve.”

She patted his forearm reassuringly. “Hey, no worries. We’ve got the time now,” she chuckled.

“Yeah, about that…” he trailed off.

She frowned. “What?”

“Red didn’t want me to, but I might’ve informed the Ben-Hassrath about you, and…” he sighed. “Let’s just say the Viddasala’s taken an interest in you and the Inquisitor,” he finished, a worried look on his face.

She was silent for the longest time. “Does Leliana know about this?” she asked quietly.

“No,” he admitted. “Figured she’d skin me alive for disobeying her orders.”

She lapsed into silence again. “You should tell her,” Samarra said sternly. “She needs to know, especially if there’s a threat to Helena’s life.”

“I don’t think the Qunari would attack the only person capable of defeating Corypheus,” he protested.

She made an impatient gesture. “Not presently, no. But it’s always a possibility in the future. I always wondered why…” she murmured, then trailed off.  _ No point in alarming him unduly _ . “Look, Bull, you need to let Leliana know.”

“Fine, I’ll tell her,” he grumbled.

“You should also tell her about any Ben-Hassrath agents in the south. And if there are any in the Inquisition, which I’m sure there are,” she cut off his protests. “Bull,” she said in a dark voice. “Trust me when I say that this will help things in the future.”

He couldn’t argue against her tone, and nodded.

“Right,” she said, forcing a cheerful tone. “Here’s to you, Bull, and a lifetime of living the way you choose to.”

“I’ll drink to that any day, little wolf.”

 

* * *

She watched as Helena and her party departed for the Exalted Plains, not entirely happy. She had wanted to join them, but the Inquisitor had insisted she remain behind to help the advisors with war table missions. She’d also been reminded, sternly, that Clan Lavellan was depending on her advice. With an ungracious huff, she’d stomped away, much like a little child. She had hoped to see the Plains first-hand, wanting to see the place the elves had once called home. Instead, she was stuck in Skyhold. Though Helena’s reasoning had made sense, she still sulked.

On the other hand, she wouldn’t have to worry about the undead, so there was that.

She studied the war table closely, constantly referring to the list of tasks Josephine had handed her. She made several minor decisions on behalf of Helena - with the brunette’s approval, of course - but any major ones she left to the Inquisitor. It wouldn’t do to undermine Helena, there was no reason to provide more gossip to the wagging tongues. Already the nobles who visited Skyhold drew comparisons between her and the Empress’ pet apostate, and she laughed to herself, knowing full well Morrigan would not approve of it.

Morrigan.

She tensed. While Josephine hadn’t been able to contact the Empress directly - of course, since Florianne was likely intercepting the correspondence from the Inquisition - perhaps if the ambassador contacted  _ Morrigan _ with a warning, they might have more luck.

She mulled over the idea, idly tracing the route from Skyhold to Halamshiral on the map. As she did so, her arm tingled in that tell-tale fashion.

She saw one of Florianne’s agents opening the letter to Morrigan, and alerting the Grand Duchess. Florianne arranging to have Morrigan killed, first poisoning her drink with magebane, then sliding a dagger between her ribs. It was Kieran who discovered his mother’s body in her room, his hands covered in his mother’s blood as he held her body, his face frozen in horrified shock.

She came to herself, her hands gripping the edges of the table so hard they had turned while.  _ When will you learn, _ she chided herself.  _ Stray from the course of events, and things will become much worse. _

Still, she needed to do something, anything, to get the picture of Kieran weeping over Morrigan’s body out of her mind… She went to have tea with Josephine, the two of them having giggling over the latest gossip to come from the Orlesian court, and slowly the horror of the vision disappeared.

The following weeks were mostly uneventful. The Hawkes made a visit to Starkhaven, Marian wanting to spend time with Sebastian, and Garrett wanting to check on Carver. The twins had confided in her about their rocky relationship with Carver - he’d resented them, usually for being more ‘talented’ and ‘popular’ than he was, but then it had flared into something deeper when Bethany had died. The loss of his twin, combined with the fact that Marian and Garrett still had each other had turned that resentment into hate, and it was only Leandra’s firm hand that kept the peace on most occasions. Garrett had broken into sobs as he spoke about their mother’s murder, talking about how he’d hated himself for a long while after that, knowing that it was a blood mage who had killed his mother, and he hadn’t been able to reconcile the fact that he was one, too. Marian spoke softly about how Carver had blamed Garrett for their mother’s dead for a while, but seeing his brother in so much pain had shifted something in him, and Carver had ended up becoming Garrett’s biggest supporter. They spoke of the fateful Deep Roads expedition, about Bertrand and the red lyrium, and how Varric had broken down when he realized his brother had betrayed them. How Varric had mourned when he had had to kill his brother. They told her how they’d tried to dissuade Carver from joining the templars, but he had been very insistent on it, wisely acknowledging that it was possibly the only way to protect Garrett and keep him out of the rising suspicion of Knight-Commander Meredith.

She had become very close to the Hawkes, giving them the bits and pieces of her life, as much as she dared to divulge without exposing herself. Everything that happened to her, she spun into stories about her ‘mentor’. She told them about James, twisting it to sound like he was the son of a wealthy noble family who had fallen in love with her, but his parents disapproved of their relationship. She’d wept into Marian’s shoulder as she spoke about his death, how she was unable to do anything to save him even though she was a healer. They had wanted to take her to Starkhaven with them, to introduce her to Sebastian and Carver, but Leliana had forbidden it, claiming she was needed in Skyhold.

Alistair had been dispatched with a group of Grey Wardens to deal with the darkspawn sightings on the Storm Coast. She’d worried terribly over him, making him promise that he wouldn’t do anything stupid, and wouldn’t get himself injured. He’d laughed softly at her concern, pressing a kiss to her forehead and promising to return safely. She’d blushed at that, and had squeezed his hand, silently conveying to him what she could not put into words.

She couldn’t bear to see another James die.

Without her friends to spend time with, she felt rather lonely. Sure, she liked spending time with Josephine and Leliana, the three of them gossiping about the nobles and fashion and trivialities, and she was enjoying learning chess from Cullen - who was surprisingly a fantastic teacher - but she missed her friends, missed hanging out in the tavern with them and playing cards, laughing and fooling around. She found herself spending a great deal of time with Anders and Widris, who had - to her immense amusement - greatly taken to each other. Anders was a much nicer person when Justice was calm; he was humorous, wise, understanding and caring. They spoke at length about his life, and she found herself sympathising with the ‘abominations’ after listening to their ordeals. Anders had even confessed to Widris what he’d done in Kirkwall; it had taken her some time to process it, but in the end she had forgiven him, and it had made their bond stronger.

She liked seeing them together, as did the rest of her healers. It was clear that they were meant for each other, whether because of their shared experiences or their current circumstances was unclear, but frankly Samarra didn’t care, because they were just so cute together.

Ellandra confessed to her that Barris had asked her to marry him after the madness had died down, and she had squealed in excitement. The Enchanter showed her the silver ring, the design reminiscent of a celtic knot, that he’d given her as a symbol of the promise he’d made to her. Ashalle, Giles and Everna - and herself, of course - had ooh-ed and aah-ed over it, gently teasing the Enchanter about her relationship with a former templar as a mage, and Ellie had blushed and stammered, so much so Barris had had to come to her rescue, but even he was blushing.

Most of her healers had found someone special. Giles had Flissa, Ellandra and Barris, even Ashalle, the woman who had lost her husband at the start of the Inquisition, the woman who had once been filled with so much sorrow she had thought to kill herself, was making slow but steady progress with Krem. For all his gruffness, Krem was a sweetheart - a genuine cinnamon bun - and she very much approved of them together. They were both shy and uncertain, their interactions gentle and tender, and it made her heart ache with longing to see them together, for it  reminded her of James, and how much he had cared for her. Everna had cried to her once, ashamed of the jealousy she had felt when seeing her closest friends find love, despairing that it would never come to her. She had calmed down the blond elf, telling her to be patient, that it would come for her one day; that Samarra knew, deep in her bones, that Everna would find love. It had consoled the elf, but Samarra could still see the longing in Everna’s eyes each time the elf saw her friends spending time with their significant others.

Samarra also spent time with Felix and Minaeve - yet another couple, much to her surprise, for she hadn’t expected the son of a Tevinter magister to fall in love with an elf. Minaeve had shyly told her how he had kept chasing her even though she had disapproved of him, how they had argued furiously at the beginning, but that he had shown her how respectful and loyal and chivalrous he was, and she had fallen for the goodness in him.

She wasn’t ashamed to admit that she had shed a few tears at their story. She could see the happiness glowing on Felix’s face. He thanked her repeatedly for what she’d done for him - it had made her blush madly, and she had tried to brush it off - but when he told her how he felt complete, and whole, and how Minaeve didn’t make him feel lesser for not having any magical abilities, but accepted him for who he was, she cried many happy tears. He confided in her that the Inquisition felt more like home to him than Tevinter ever did; here, no one mocked where he had come from, or chided him for not being more of a mage, but respected him for who he was. He told her how Minaeve and Helisma had taught him so much about creature research, and how he felt like he had found his calling in researching matters that others found of little interest. She’d hugged him, and he’d been very confused as she cried into his shirt, but consoled her nonetheless.

Dagna and she had become practically joined at the hip. She taught all she knew of magic to the dwarf, who absorbed it eagerly, and in return, Dagna showed her how to create manipulate metal into masterworks. Samarra realized that while the dwarf wasn’t able to perform magic, she had an almost intuitive understanding of its mechanism, and oftentimes something that Dagna mentioned casually sparked an idea in Samarra, causing her to test the theory, dwarf by her side of course.

Which was how she found herself standing in the middle of the training ground with her bow-staff - affectionately called Fadewalker, in honor of the first staff she’d bought in Val Royeaux and the one that Dagna had disassembled to create her new one - staring at the target that stood in the distance.

_ What am I even doing here? _

_ Trying to become a knight-enchanter-archer? _

_ A spirit archer, with no guidance at all, no trainer… no Solas? _

_ I don’t need Solas for everything, you know. _

_ Sure… except he’s probably the  _ _ only _ _ person who has any idea how to go about this. _

_ I can do this by myself! _

_ I mean… you can try, right? _

“You ready?” Dagna said cheerfully.

“Well, it’s worth a try, right?” she said doubtfully.

“Got any ideas?”

“I think…” she said slowly… “I think I need to focus and concentrate first.”

“Go for it!”

She raised her bow, and picked up one of the arrow ends that Dagna had crafted for her. She nocked it on the string, and drew, aiming at the target. It was the strangest thing to see no shaft, no arrowhead.

_ Okay, focus. _

She inhaled, deep and slow and even.

_ Remember the knight enchanter. How does the spirit blade work? Create a blade out of solid magic. _

She furrowed her brow, picturing the shape of an arrow in her mind. The molecules in the air started vibrating slowly, pulling together to form a shape vaguely resembling an arrow.

“You’re doing it!” Dagna clapped her hands excitedly.

She concentrated harder, trying to pull in her mana and the magic of the Fade to form ice out of the molecules. A fine tremble began in her arms, the strain of the technique getting to her. She inhaled again slowly, trying to ignore the exertion.

The arrow form sputtered, tiny ice crystals hovering in the air.

Frowning, she narrowed her eyes, trying to pull in the ice shards together to the shape she wanted. Her head was hurting now, and her nose was dripping something. She thought she heard Dagna exclaim something, but she couldn’t make out the words. There was a roaring in her head, like the rush of water in a flood. There was a darkness around the corners of her vision, and she tried blinking to dispel it, but it didn’t seem to help.

The darkness spread out, and before she could do anything, it overwhelmed her, and she blacked out.

When she awoke, she found herself on a cot in the infirmary, Widris and Anders hovering over her. “Uhhhh… what happened?” she asked blearily.

“Dagna said you were trying something new, and you passed out,” Anders said with a frown. “What was it? Because whatever it was, it sent you into a mana imbalance.”

She sat up slowly, Widris helping her. “There’s this technique that I was testing out.... You’ve heard how Vivienne is a knight enchanter, right? She can create this spirit blade out of magic… I just wanted to see if I could replicate the technique with a bow.”

“Like a spirit archer?” he asked, his brows raised.

“Yeah… except, I don’t really have a trainer. Not that there’s one, I guess? Especially since there isn’t even a specialization like that…” she trailed off.

He sighed. “I’m forbidding you from trying again,” he said reprovingly. “At least do so when there is another mage around. Take Solas’ help, he’s well versed in the rarer magicks, is he not?”

She frowned. “I don’t want to,” she whined. “Besides, it’ll be  _ weeks _ before he gets back from the Exalted Plains!”

Anders eyes flashed blue. “ _ Amelan, _ ” Justice said, a plea in his tone. “ _ Amas mar’lan. _ ”(protect yourself)

She sighed. “ _ Ame aman’eth, elgar’tunan. _ ” (I am keeping myself safe, spirit of justice)

Justice huffed. “ _ Neal son’el _ ” (you need to be more careful)

“ _ San, elgar’tunan. _ ” she grumbled  (okay, spirit of justice)

“ _ Re’sul mar’lan on, amelan _ ,” Justice said gently. (it is for your own good, keeper)

“ _ Eolasan, _ ” she said with a sigh. (i know)

Ander’s eyes turned brown again. “I guess you have your orders,” he smirked slightly.

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Ha, ha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I haven't yet replied to all of you lovely people who left comments on the last chapter - but I will by this weekend, I promise! Thank you so much for taking the time to read and comment :)_
> 
> Bull and Samarra post Demands Of The Qun are BFFs, and she often makes Bull carry her on his shoulders.
> 
> Thought it was time for a bit of an update about the minor characters - I missed Ashalle, Giles and Everna! I have half a mind to start a spin-off story starring the three of them, haha.
> 
> Also: I freaking LOVE Minaeve. If you talk to her in Haven, she says she protected the Tranquil because no one else would. I mean; I love her for that. Plus, she's a badass researcher, so... yep. The only thing I find really weird is that she's apparently Dalish, and was sent away from her clan because they had too many mages already? But like, the Dalish really value mages, and if a clan has too many of them they're sent to other clans that don't have any mages. That discrepancy bugs the crap out of me. In any case, I can totally see her and Felix hitting it off - she's all serious and focused, and he's mischievous and lighthearted - they'd make a good pair, they both have good hearts.
> 
> Will Samarra ever achieve her goal of becoming a spirit archer? Speaking of which, why do we have a knight enchanter, but not like an archer enchanter, or an assassin enchanter? I'd LOVE playing an assassin enchanter - spirit dual daggers, stealth, plus elemental damage? HECK YES.


	87. Never Be The First To Reveal Your Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Samarra stop herself from making a costly mistake?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: [still working on it]
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *

She was with him once again, in that glen that now felt more like  _ theirs _ than his alone. Solas was seated in front of her, a quiet smile on his face, clearly pleased that she was spending time with him.

After their tender lovemaking -  _ oh my GOD have I turned into one of  _ **_those_ ** _ people, fuuuuuck _ \- she felt rather shy and bashful, and he was far too intuitive to not notice it.

He brought a slender finger to her chin and tipped her face to meet his. There was a small frown on his face. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, a faint hint of worry in his voice.

“No,” she said, uncharacteristically shy.  _ For fuck’s sake snap out of it! Everyone has sex, right? _   “It’s just… this is just…”

He understood what she was trying to say. “Do you regret it?” he asked quietly.

“No!” she said, her startled eyes meeting his shuttered ones. “I’m not used to… to feeling this way,” she mumbled, gazing down at the ground once more. It was true, though he didn’t need to know of her doubts. Those were for her, and her alone.

He shifted closer to her, taking her hand between his. “Would you believe me if I said I feel exactly as you do?” he said softly.

“I don’t… I don’t understand, Solas,” she whispered. “That thing between us…” she gestured haphazardly with her free hand, searching for the words to explain how she felt. “What happened?”

He cupped her cheek with his palm, gently turning her to face him. He used his thumb to gently caress her lips, smiling fondly when her breath hitched ever so slightly. “Does it astound you to know that I think you to be the single most valuable being in all of Thedas?” he asked.

She swallowed. “I’m not,” she whispered. “It is Helena you are thinking of.”

He sighed. “She is the only one capable of closing the rifts that plague the land, yes,” he said, frustration lending an edge to his voice. “But she is not  _ you _ . You are everything I am not, everything I wish I was.”

She blinked. “Solas,” she said hesitantly. “Have you ever once thought that… perhaps I am the way I am because of the marks I bear on my arm?”

He smiled indulgently, as though willing to accommodate her disbelief. “Do you believe that?” he countered.

“Even if I had changed, how would I know?” she argued. She pulled her hand away.

“A fair point,” he conceded. “Yet one I cannot lend much credence to. If that were the case, then the Inquisitor would have changed as well, given the amount of power the mark on her hand bears, and yet I cannot imagine she has.”

“Solas,” she began.

He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. “You know what I would hear,” he said softly, a plea in his voice.

Her heart stuttered. Here was the Dread Wolf, the Master of the Fade, Lord of the Rebels, and he was begging her. Begging  _ her _ . Power, potent and intoxicating, flooded through her, and she knew she could undo him if she chose to.

And she chose to.

_ “Fenor _ ,” she sighed into his ear, and he trembled.

“Again,” he said, and she obliged.

When he pulled back to look at her, his eyes were dark pools of liquid silver. “Do you mean it?” he growled softly.

Her heart stopped beating. He asked her for the truth, a truth she was yet to acknowledge herself. She hid her face in her hands as it came crashing down on her. She felt her heart being squeezed tightly, torn as it was between the elf in front of her and the man who reminded her so much of James. She could not deny both had a claim to her heart, couldn’t lie to herself that she was indifferent to Solas, that she felt nothing for him. It wasn’t true. Perhaps it had never been true. Perhaps she had, as Wisdom had told her all that time ago, only been lying to herself about her feelings for him.

He pulled her hands away from her face. His face was neutral, his eyes shuttered, and she knew that he thought she had not meant it.

She could leave him in the lie. Could let him believe that she had only told him what he wanted to hear, not what she felt. It would be safer for her, it would allow her to put back up those walls around her heart that had fallen without her knowledge or permission.

Her heart, her stupid, foolish, traitorous heart howled in protest.

_ “Ma fenor, _ ” she said once more, softly, gently. “Precious.” She reached out tentatively, hesitantly, and placed her hand on his chest, splaying her fingers over where his heart beat.

His face broke out into  _ that _ smile, and the meadow around them burst into flowers of all color. She gasped at the sight, then gasped again as he pulled her into a kiss as delicate as the the petals on the blooms that surrounded them.

“Why me?” she asked again, when he finally allowed her to catch her breath.

“Have we not discussed this enough times?” he asked, amused, indulgent… condescending.

_ Duty over love. Remember, he will always put duty over love _ . The warning in her head was too loud to ignore, so loud that it caused the edges of his fade-space to shiver the slightest.

“Something troubles you,” he stated, observing the unease in the corners of the glen.

“Solas,” she said quietly, her eyes fixed on his. “You called me  _ fenor _ . Swear to me, then, that it is only my heart you want, that the markings on my arm, or the magic I have within me have no bearing in your desire to be with me.”

“ _ Ane ma fenor’asha _ ,” he said simply, but she noticed the moment’s hesitation he had before he spoke the words, noted the sliver of darkness poking through his otherwise expressionless eyes.

And somewhere deep in her, she felt something crack and break, an illusion shattered, a hope dashed.

He could see it in her eyes, she knew, for he reached out for her immediately. “Samarra,” he said in a rush, trying to pull her towards him, but she backed away. She choked back a sob, not wanting him to see her cry. She would not cry. She would not. She knew how the Dread Wolf was.

_ Remember your goals, and do nothing that does not further them _ .

“You hesitated,” she accused.

He didn’t flinch. “Would you want me to tell you a lie?” he stated calmly. “I desire all of you,  _ da’assan _ .”

_ Lies, lies, all lies. _

“If you had to choose between me, just me, and my… abilities, which would you choose?” she said equally calmly.

He gave her another condescending look. “They are both a part of you,  _ da’assan _ . And I choose you.”

“I see,” she said politely, for she  _ did _ see. She saw that he was not above using one to gain access to the other. She stared at him for the longest time, thinking of all his romance cutscenes, his interactions with a romanced Lavellan, the uncertainty and despair he had even as he loved her.

But she knew now that they were all a lie. The Dread Wolf did nothing that was not carefully planned. Even though she knew most of his plans had a tendency to go down the shitter, he was a careful planner. He was always ten steps ahead of everyone. If he had romanced Lavellan, it would have been for a reason.

_ I have loved you so many times, Solas, _ she thought despairingly.  _ How often have I hoped, as I played the game, that you would one day not break my heart? Foolish, I know, so very foolish of me. When I landed in this strange, familiar world and I met you, I feared even as my heart thrilled. You… you are all that I imagined you to be, and more. And yet, there lies a darkness in you, one that would swallow me whole if I am not careful. I cannot love you. If I am to walk my path I must not love you. You value duty over love. And so must I, till you understand that your duty is a burden you insist on carrying, and one that can be made lighter with the aid of love. _

“I think,” she said slowly, trying to keep her voice steady, “I think that this… is a bad idea.”

He clasped her wrist as she made to walk away. “Why do you think so?” he demanded.

_ What do you want me to say, Solas? That I know you are the Dread Wolf, and I know what you’re doing, and I really don’t approve of it? _

_ I would hope you’re smarter than that. _

_ Oh hey, guess who showed up to the party. _

_ This is a party? You sure have a strange idea of what makes one. _

_ You’re just so hilarious, you know that? _

_ Of course I am. Someone has to compensate for you, after all. _

_ You really think this is the time to get into it? _

_ Oh, fine. By all means, continue with the heartbreak. I’m out. _

“Because you’re more attracted to  _ what _ I am rather than  _ who _ I am,” she said, shaking her hand free from his grasp. “And it’s something I must remember… even after I  _ wake up _ .”

She opened her eyes, staring into the darkness of her room, her heart racing. Activating the silencing rune on the ceiling, she rolled over into her pillow and wept, wept for her naivety, her shattered belief that she even had a  _ chance _ to be his  _ vhenan _ , wept for her bruised, cracked heart.

_ Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. You fucked up. How did you let yourself get into this situation? What are you going to do now? _

_ What I’ve always done. Pretend that nothing’s wrong, and move on. _

_ You think it’s going to be as simple as that? _

_ No, but I have no fucking choice! For once, could you just be supportive? Please? I know I messed up. I know I shouldn’t have let myself become so vulnerable. It’s my fault, and I know it, but for once, can we just… can we just mourn the loss of what could have been? _

_ But what  _ _ could _ _ have been, sweetling? Do you think loving him would have changed anything? Do you think him loving you would have changed anything? You’re not some kind of special snowflake, regardless of whether or not he loves you, or you love him, his plans will remain the same. The closer you are to him, the more difficult it’ll be to change his mind. _

_ I know that. _

_ Good. Then stop crying, stiffen your spine, and keep your head up. You’ll get through this. _

_ …. Yeah, you’re right. I will get over this. _

_ Yes, you will. _

She wiped the tears from her face with the sleeves of her tunic, and inhaled deeply.  _ You have a duty, _ she reminded herself.  _ Don’t forget it. _

Knowing she’d mope if she were by herself, she sought out the familiar comfort of friends. Soon, she was seated next to Varric, his sharp eyes having noted the redness lingering around her eyes, listening to yet another tale of Marian and Garrett.

It made her feel better.

<hr>

She met with the advisors the next morning in the war room. Leliana updated them on the situation with Clan Lavellan, reading to them the report from her spy Jester. Helena had been informed via raven of the news, and had sent a reply instructing them to follow Samarra’s advice.

“This makes no sense,” Cullen exclaimed. “Duke Antoine is an ally of the Inquisition. Why would he hire mercenaries to attack an innocent clan?”

“It appears that Wycome has been experiencing some sort of plague that affects only humans. The duke has kept news of the disease quiet, but the nobles are growing louder in the anger, blaming the elves in Wycome’s alienage. Antoine evidently intended Clan Lavellan to serve as scapegoats, his actions against them meant to pacify the nobles.” Leliana said, anger coating her words.

“Why is the duke behaving like this? Josephine asked, puzzled.

Samarra sighed. “The city is being poisoned by red lyrium,” she said grimly. “The duke is a Venatori sympathist. He has placed red lyrium in all the wells used by the humans, and it is poisoning them, and driving them mad.”

“And since the elves are not drinking tainted water, they are free from the so-called plague,” Leliana deduced shrewdly.

“Exactly,” she said.

“Well,” Leliana said. “It’s risky, but I could send assassins to Wycome, end the Duke’s threats to the elves.”

“No!” Samarra said sharply. She turned to Josephine. “Josie, we need proof that Antoine is indeed poisoning Wycome’s water supply. He’s an ally of the Inquisition, yes? Your ambassadors can go where Leliana’s scouts cannot.” She then turned to Leliana. “The nobles are growing more agitated, slowly being driven mad by the red lyrium. They will attack the alienage and Clan Lavellan. Your scouts must work with the clan; you need to get your men and the Dalish hunters into the city. Ask them to join up with the resistance group in the alienage, show the merchants and the laborers the red lyrium. They will side with the elves and fight against the nobles.”

“Would it not be easier to assassinate the duke and the nobles?” Leliana asked.

“The humans will blame the elves for the duke’s death, and slaughter them in revenge,” she replied. “The matter requires a delicate touch. One wrong move, and it is not only the Clan Lavellan that is decimated, but all the elves in the Wycome alienage.”

Josephine let out a small gasp. Cullen wasn’t convinced. “Perhaps we should send our men to Wycome,” he said. “If they have been poisoned by red lyrium…”

She was shaking her head even before he finished. “They will put up a fight, Cullen. And the collateral damage will be significant. You might be successful in destroying the red lyrium, but your men will be forced to retreat after that, and again, it will be the elves who pay the price. Not only that, but the Inquisition’s reputation will be affected as well.”

“I have the perfect person in mind,” Josephine said. “You know Lady Volan, Leliana.”

“Ahhh, yes,” Leliana said, pleased. “She is sharp, and above suspicion. Antoine will never suspect her.”

“Why are you so insistent on helping this clan?” Cullen asked.

_ Because five of my freaking Inquisitors were Lavellans, and I don’t want their clan to die _ .

“Because we are the Inquisition, and we are sworn to help those who cannot help themselves,” she said calmly. “Because this is the right thing to do. Because we stop injustices from taking place where we can. Take your pick, Commander.”

Her words had served to remind them of what their cause was. Leliana had a proud smile on her face, her eyes gleaming in understanding. Josephine had straightened up at her words. Even Cullen’s face held more honor and dignity than it usually did.

“You are right, of course,” he said.

“Is there anything else?” she asked.

“We’ve had a person seek asylum,” Leliana said slowly. “A dwarf. Claims she was part of the Carta in Kirkwall, but fled soon after the Carta leader was killed. Apparently, the Hawkes were the ones who killed him. She says that she has nowhere to turn to; she owes the Carta money, and they will kill her if she doesn’t pay them. She says she has nowhere to turn to but the Inquisition, and is pleading for our help.”

_ Oh, come on. First Lavellan, now Cadash? _

_ You only had one female dwarf, the one you romanced Sera with, remember? _

_ Ah yes, Brenna Cadash. _

“Her name,” Samarra asked curiously, “is it Brenna? Brenna Cadash?”

Leliana nodded, surprised. “You have had visions of her?”

“I only know she is a most capable warrior, and has a good heart. If she has a debt to pay to secure her freedom I will gladly play it for her. Josephine, you can take it out of my wages.”

Josephine flushed. “I will do no such thing. If you believe she is a good soul, the Inquisition will gladly pay off her debts.”

Leliana sighed. “You forget she was once Carta,” the spymaster reminded her. “She hails from house Cadash. They do not have the most pleasant of reputations.”

“Leliana,” she said quietly, “Brenna is the only one left of her family. She is all alone, and has no one in the world. She had no other means of surviving other than joining the Carta.”

“I do not like this,” Leliana muttered.

“If it bothers you so, you can always investigate her. But I will vouch for her,” Samarra said.

“I believe I will look into the dwarf’s past,” the Nightingale said decisively.

Samarra rolled her eyes. “Fine, but when Mahanon Lavellan asks to join the Inquisition, I hope you’ll let him do so without much fuss.”

The spymaster huffed. “Should we be expecting anyone else?”

_ That _ tingling in her arm. A picture in her mind. A large qunari, two others behind him, all weary and tired, sadness in their eyes. The qunari at the front was as large as Bull, and carried a staff. They reached one of the Inquisition checkpoints, where they were viewed with suspicion, but nevertheless given directions by the soldiers manning it. She heard their names.  _ Karaas, Hissra, Meraad. _ She knew who they were. The remaining Valo-Kas mercenaries, the ones who had not been sent to the Conclave.

She blinked when the vision fizzled out, completely bewildered. She didn’t have a male Adaar character. Where had he come from?

Leliana’s cough brought her back into the moment. The spymaster stared at her, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, you’re going to get a couple more people,” she huffed. “Karaas Adaar. He will be accompanied by two others, their names are Hissra and Meraad. They are all that is left of the Valo-Kas mercenary group. Adaar is Vashoth, as are his companions. He is also a mage.”

Leliana made quick notes. “I will have them investigated.”

“You do that,” she said tiredly. Everything was just getting so confusing.

_ Even more confusing than it already is? _

_ You have a point there. _

_ Nothing’s ever quite so simple in the real world, is it? _

_ Nope. _

_ So, you’re going to be getting a Lavellan, Adaar and Cadash. Any plans for them? _

_ What do you mean? _

_ I mean, since they’re clearly  _ _ not _ _ the Inquisitor, you could probably use their help in, you know, the  _ _ other _ _ matter. _

_ … can we actually trust them, though? _

_ You just told Leliana you’d vouch for them, and now you’re wondering if you can trust them? _

_ I only created the Cadash and the male Lavellan. The Adaar is new. _

_ But you know their stories. You made the Cadash to romance Sera. Remember Mahanon was rather fond of Dorian? And you planning on a male Adaar for a Josie romance after Helena… _

_ So not only does this world have people I’ve created in  _ _ other _ _ playthroughs, it also has characters that only existed in my head? What the fuck? Does that mean something from this freaking world was controlling  **how** I was playing the game back on Earth? _

_ Beats me, you’re asking the wrong person. I’m just trying to help you make sense of it all. _

_ Nothing in this goddamn world makes much sense. _

_ That’s true. _

“...Samarra? Samarra!” Josephine’s voice broke through her internal argument.

“I’m sorry Josie, I was a bit lost. What were you saying?”

“Will you be joining us for tea today?”

She beamed at the ambassador. “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.”

As they left the war room, Leliana stepped into line with her. “There are a few matters that concern me. You know, yes, that Bull has informed Par Vollen about your abilities?”

“He told me that, yes,” she said cautiously.

“My people are reporting sightings of Qunari near Jader,” the spymaster said. “I have no idea as to their numbers yet, but it has not yet alerted the authorities there, so perhaps it is not of concern… yet. Still, it is rather suspicious that they are there at all. Do you have any insight into the matter?”

Samarra’s throat tightened. “No,” she croaked. “Bull told me that the Viddasala is interested in me and Helena, but I can’t imagine why.”

Leliana nodded grimly. “Yes, he mentioned the same thing to the Inquisitor. The Qunari are not fond of magic. Likely they view the two of you with a great deal of suspicion.”

Samarra gripped Leliana’s arm. “You must keep Helena safe,” she said agitatedly.

“The Inquisitor is safe, do not fear.” the spymaster soothed her. “My people have her in their sight at all times.”

She relaxed slightly.

“However,” Leliana continued, “I am more concerned about you.”

“Me?” Samarra said, surprised. “Why?”

“Your insight is valuable to the Inquisition,” Leliana said softly. “The services you provide, indispensable. We cannot afford to lose you.”

Samarra was touched. “You won’t,” she promised. “If I see anything, I will let you know at once.”

Leliana seemed satisfied. She watched the Nightingale walk away, a curl of fear in her stomach.

Something bad was brewing in the horizon. She could feel it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aannnnd... whoops, here I am again. [FFS has it been six freaking months since I last updated this thing? Gawd _dayum_ ]
> 
> The past months have been... crazy. I mean, almost literally. Between recovering from depression, and having to host my in-laws, and my parents, and just... I had no time to even think about writing. Not that I could've written anything, even if I had had the time. The funny thing about coming out of depression is that you kinda lose touch with the fantasy world you've been living in, and getting back into that mindset is so much harder. But I'm working on it! Samarra's not done yet, not by a long shot :)
> 
> Speaking of Samarra... damn girl, I think you _may_ have messed up. Just a little. Oh dear.
> 
> One thing about Inquisition struck me - like, in Origins, every race had a different outcome if they weren't recruited, right? [made Tranquil, or jailed, or killed by darkspawn... whatever]. Like, if Duncan knew about all those people, why couldn't he/you recruit all of them? Or at least save them? I guess Inquisition sorted that stuff out by just having the other potential Inquisitors outright die in the explosion. Hmmm, what would've happened if there were two Inquisitors? Like twins? Dammit, now I'm going to have _that_ idea stuck in my head...


	88. Expectations Built From Cards Will Come Tumbling Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency - biweekly
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> For Alice <3
> 
> * * *

She had wanted an afternoon nap, having spent too many hours the night before lost in a particularly interesting tome on elemental magic, the same book she’d discovered in the little library in the basement.

She shut the curtains in her room and settled down on the mattress with a pleased sigh, shutting her eyes and drifting off to sleep.

But the moment she entered the Fade, she knew instantly something was wrong. There was a disturbance, a shuddering of sorts, as though something had been plucked violently from it.

_Oh, no_.

Knowledge and Purpose immediately appeared before her, flustered and scared. “Wisdom is gone!” they lamented. “She was pulled harshly from her home, caught in the net, dragged to the waking world.”

“Does Solas know?” she asked immediately.

They nodded. “He seeks her now, your warning in mind. We cannot feel her any more!” they grieved. “She cannot be lost, must not be lost. The wolf will rage in fury, he will harden his heart.”

“She would have turned into a Pride demon,” Samarra worried her lip. “Is there anything I can do to reverse it?” she said, turning to Purpose. “I changed you once. Can I help her?”

“The waking world is different,” Purpose rued. “More solid, more real. To untwist what has been twisted needs strength and a will stronger than that of the twisted.”

Samarra nodded, filing away the piece of information in her head. “Wisdom will have been corrupted…” she spoke abstractly. A thought came into her mind. “The corruption. She was forced to do something against her nature. What if… what if I take it from her?”

Knowledge shared a look with Purpose. “A burden black enough to eat away the soul. It is dangerous. It can push you into madness, drive you into the darkness.”

“But will it work?” she demanded.

“Take the burden, take the sin, and untwist the contortion,” Purpose nodded. “It will be painful,” she warned.

“I can bear it,” she said. _I hope,_ she added in her mind. But she knew she had to do it. She needed to. Solas would kill those mages otherwise, and he would become colder. Both were bad things.

She felt herself being tugged away back to reality. “I’ll do what I can,” she called out to her spirit friends as she left the Fade. She opened her eyes groggily, wondering what had brought her back to the waking world. There was a series of knocks at her door, and she immediately padded over to open it.

One of Leliana’s scouts stood there, a grim look on her face. “Sister Nightingale wishes to see you immediately,” she said. Samarra nodded. Shutting the door behind her, she followed the scout to the rookery, where Leliana poured over a stack of messages.

“Samarra,” the spymaster greeted her brusquely. “We have a problem.”

“What is it?” she asked worriedly.

“A request from the Inquisitor. It appears one of Solas’ friends urgently needs your help, and he insists you are the only one who can. There is one part that puzzles me, however. The Inquisitor mentioned something about a Pride demon. Is this something to worry about?”

Samarra shook her head. “No. When did the message arrive?” she asked.

“About an hour ago.”

Samarra chewed on her lip. “How safe are the Plains?” she asked speculatively.

“Helena has reclaimed the Western Ramparts. She was busy helping out the Dalish clan camped there when this issue arose. I am informed that most of the Freemen have been dealt with, though their leader is yet to be encountered.”

She nodded, distracted, thinking of a plan.

“I will arrange for you to accompany one of the supply wagons that leaves tomorrow,” Leliana said.

“Okay,” she murmured.

“You might want to gather your things, pack for the journey.”

“I’ll do that,” she murmured, and left the spymaster’s presence.

_It will take me a week to get to the Plains. By then, it would be too late. There has to be another way…_

_There is… kind of. The eluvian. Maybe you can reset it?_

_But that would require an eluvian to be present in the Plains. Not saying there isn’t one there, but it might be in a not-so-nice location. And given the fact that there’s still quite a bit of undead around…_

_You have to try something!_

_I’m stuck in Skyhold! Helena is with Solas! Why isn’t she helping him?_

_Maybe because she can’t? She isn’t a mage, you know. She would have wanted to kill the demon, and I bet Solas and Cole stopped her, and pleaded with her to ask for your help. You’re their only hope!_

She went to her room, stuffing her pack with potions, some clothing and things she thought she might need. Grabbing her Fadewalker and her quiver, she slung them on her back.

_I need to get to that library without drawing any attention._ Grateful for her magic, she slipped into stealth, and crept out of the room, making her way to the small library. She shut the door behind her, sealing it with a ward that would decay over time - no need to make things suspicious. When she made her way to the room, she was startled to find traces of magic lingering in the air. She knew whose it was, and wondered when - and why - he had come here. Had he discovered that he could no longer access the eluvian? If he had, surely he would have suspected her, would have done something…

_Snap out of it! You have a job to do._ She moved towards the mirror, noting the fresh set of footprints in the dust. She wondered what she needed to do next. She knew that eluvians could be redirected, but that it required a great deal of power. However the game hadn’t exactly shown her how Kieran had redirected Morrigan’s mirror from the Crossroads to the Fade, only that it could be done.

She inhaled deeply. _Think, Samarra, think. How did you activate this mirror?_ With a start, she realized she had no way of knowing if she could even access the mirror any more. After all, Solas had clearly been down here. He could have regained control of it. There was only one way to find out. “ _Geron esay,_ ” she whispered, thrilled when the mirror lit up. It also confused her. Why hadn’t Solas been able to take back control? He was very powerful…

_Not the time._

She stared at the activated mirror for a few seconds, pondering her next move. _You activated it with your blood. Maybe that’s what is needed to redirect it?_

_I can’t keep using my blood for everything!_

_At least you know it works! And it’s not like you have a lot of time to try different things!_

_I’m not a blood mage, goddammit!_

_Using something you know works doesn’t make you a blood mage._

_Using blood makes me a blood mage!_

_If that was the case, you wouldn’t be able to enter the Fade, remember? You’re not using your blood to cast a spell. You’re using the power of the dragon blood in your blood as a fuel of sorts. That’s not being a blood mage!_

_Ugh, I hate it when you make sense._

_Honey, I’m the only part of you that makes sense._

Sliding her trusty dagger out of its sheath, she made a small nick on her finger. She pressed the finger against the glowing eluvian, freaking out when it _sucked_ the blood out of the cut and into it. She splayed her hand over the surface, not pushing against it too hard for fear her hand would go through the portal.

“ _Ar nuven daran Dirthavaren. Ar nuven vhellan Solas.” (i wish to go to dirth/exalted plains. I wish to meet solas)_. The eluvian hummed gently and let out a pulse of light; there was nothing dramatic, only a slight shift in the way the surface of the mirror rippled. She stared at it doubtfully.

_Did anything even happen?_

_Only one way to find out._

She pressed her palm to the mirror, observing with no small amount of apprehension how it went right through the surface. Eluvians fascinated her. She so desperately wanted to learn how they were constructed, how they worked, everything about them.

She stepped through the eluvian…

...and stepped out in a place that was most decidedly _not_ Solas’ bedroom.

The area was… unmistakeably devastated. Smoke spires dotted the landscape, and she could see the bright orange-red haze that indicated flames. The grass was yellow and dry, the trees no better. Confused, she looked around where she was. She could see the western ramparts from where she was, could make out the river that flowed near the Dalish camp. There was also a lake in the distance. She squinted her eyes; a flash of purple light had caught her eye.

There.

Near the dilapidated ruins of an old house, she could make out the Pride demon, wincing as it slashed its whip through the air. She knew where she was now, on the white marble Ruined Arches - the ones that were supposed to have been part of an arena during ancient elven times, although she couldn’t be sure - and she was very close to where Solas was no doubt waiting. She turned back to the mirror, wondering what to do. Would it still work with her password? It was risky to keep it unlocked…

She whispered her password, groaning when it didn’t work. Hissing in impatience, she nicked another finger, bringing this eluvian under her control with the same password. Slinging her pack and her weapons more securely across her shoulders, she slowly made her way down, keeping a wary eye out.

It was when she reached the bottom that her eyes landed on the first halla she’d seen.

They were… beautiful. She’d always thought that they were supposed to be like deer, but they were much, much prettier than the deer on earth. They were larger than deer, for starters, their antlers curving and spiraling in a mesmerising fashion. Their hide - skin? - was white, and it seemed to glow gently even in the weak sun of the Plains. Even though they pranced around the dust, no dirt settled on them. Their heads were always tilted back in pride, their eyes were soulful, but sparked with intelligence. They glanced at her curiously as she made her way down, but they did not shy from her; rather, they seemed to find her curious and approached her, their noses twitching as they took in her scent.

One of them gave a bleat of fear - okay, so they certainly did not have the most pleasant voices, she winced at the sound - and they began running away in leaps and bounds, the movement graceful and elegant. She swung her head around, wondering what had startled them, when she noticed the wolf pack running towards her. Panicking, she stumbled backwards trying to reach a safe place on high ground when she remembered her amulet.

Sure enough, the wolves only gave her a cursory glance as they passed her by, the largest of them - the alpha, she suspected - gazing at her curiously for several moments, but he too ignored her soon after. Exhaling shakily, she made her way towards the pride demon. As she approached closer, she could see two makeshift tents, and could make out the outlines of five figures standing around the pride demon. She could see the pillars of the summoning circle, and her heart sank. The pillars looked far too sturdy for her to break on her own.

When she made her way over the small hill, she could see Solas kneeling by the circle, despair writ on every part of him. Cole was with him too, no doubt trying to console him, but the others were missing.

“Solas?” she called out softly. He swung his head in her direction, eyes widening at the sight of her.

“You came,” he breathed, his eyes red. “Please,” he pleaded. “You must help her.”

One of the mages - the pompous ass one, no doubt - came up to her. “You’re not a mage,” he said hesitantly. “But do you have any lyrium potions?”

“You summoned that demon,” she said sternly. “Except it was a spirit of wisdom at the time!”

The man looked startled. “That’s what the apostate over there said,” he said, trying to put on a brave front, “but I can assure you I have studied demons extensively. I was one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall circle…”

“I don’t have time for your blathering!” she said harshly. “I’m not here to help _you_. Tell your friends to stay back, if they know what’s wise for them.” Brushing past him, she moved to the edge of the circle, crouching down next to Solas. “Solas, do you have any idea what to do?” she asked.

He trembled, in fear or fury she didn’t know. “It is too late,” he spat out. “It is as you said. Regardless of what we do now, my friend will die. Wisdom will die, and it will all be my fault. You had warned me. I should have done more!”

She gripped Solas’ shoulder tightly. “It isn’t your fault, Solas,” she said. “Cole,” she turned towards the young lad who was wringing his hands in despair, “do you have any ideas?”

“Knowledge and Purpose wish to see Wisdom once more. Bear the burden, break the chains.”

“I don’t know _how_.”

“See past what is, to what should be,” Cole counselled.

She stared at the pride demon, trying not to flinch at its angry roars. _See past what is._ She focused on the demon’s figure. _To what should be_. She pictured Wisdom in her mind. The ethereal green figure, the feeling of peace that surrounded her, her concern for Solas…

And then she saw it. The figure of the pride demon became a blurry, hazy outline, and she could see Wisdom cowering deep inside, a vile blackness surrounding her, holding her prisoner.

“Oh,” she murmured, and walked towards the pride demon, ignoring the startled shouts of the Kirkwaller mages and Solas. The demon roared, but it didn’t faze her; she could see Wisdom looking at her, stretching its arms towards her in a plea. She felt something, a slide of magic over her, and knew Solas had cast a barrier.

“ _Ma halani, (help me)”_ Wisdom said, her voice sounding strained and scared.

_“Ame amahn, elgar’sileal, (I'm here, spirit of Wisdom)”_ she said reassuringly.

_“Ma halani,”_ the spirit implored her again.

She stretched out her hand, reaching for the blackness around the spirit, but there was some kind of _barrier_ between her and the darkness.

“ _Min elvar’nas ma judalan!” (this evil will kill me)_ Wisdom panicked.

_“Juveran ra elvar’nas sule ara’lan.” (i will take that evil into myself)_ she said quietly. “ _Vhallan banafelas.” (i accept the rot)_ She found that her hand now passed the barrier, and her hand gripped the blackness around the spirit.

It felt vile, like rage and terror given form, and it made her shudder in disgust. It coiled around her arm almost gleefully, as though recognizing it had a new host. She yanked her hand backwards, her arms covered in the black, greasy-slime manifestation of the deed the innocent spirit had been forced to perform. The moment the darkness left her, the outline of the pride demon collapsed to expose the shivering form of a terrified Wisdom.

Solas rushed towards the injured spirit. “ _Ma falon!”_ he exclaimed hoarsely. “ _Ir abelas, ar telem ma halani.” (i’m sorry, i was not able to help you)_

_“Tel abelas. Ar shan. Ir tel’hiim. Se ga’taan ma halani. Ma ghilanai’ve’an, ame tel’soun.” (I’m not. I’m happy. I’m me again. You both helped me. Guide me to the fade, i am weak)_

_“Ma nuvenin, (as you wish)”_ Solas said quietly.

She gritted her teeth as the darkness borrowed into her hand. It hurt, burned worse than fire, and she could feel it trying to wrap itself around her soul, the very essence of her. Her arm was raw and blistered where it had wound itself, and her veins stood out prominent and black.

Cole was muttering unhappily by her side, whispering _no no no_ over and over again.

The pain sent her to her knees, forcing her to double over as the blackness wove tendrils that made their way into her mind. Dark, insidious whispers she could her in her head, too soft to make the words out, but she knew they would get louder. She retched onto the ground, yellow-green sour-smelling bile the only thing that came from her stomach. She began shivering, and fell sideways onto the ground, curling up into a foetal position. Cole looked terrified now, but he was too scared to approach her, and she knew why; she carried a corruption with her, and if he touched her, or got too close, there was a risk it could go to him and corrupt him.

“Cole,” she choked out as best as she could, “you must stay away.”

She could hear Solas quietly chanting, could hear him say _dar’eth shiral_ and knew he had sent Wisdom back to the fade. She smiled to herself, although it came out looking like a grimace. She had saved Wisdom. She had saved Solas’ friend. Now, he wouldn’t feel the need to kill the mages, he wouldn’t turn hard and angry.

She cried out in agony as a wave of searing, vitriolic pain flooded into her. “Solas,” she wept, “I need help, help me, please!”

Her eyes searched around for his form; to her alarm, she could see him advancing menacingly on the mages. She heard them thank Solas, heard them explain why they had attempted the summoning in the first place.

“You,” he spat out, his voice filled with a rage and venom that froze her insides with fear, “you tortured my friend, would have killed her!”

The ‘foremost expert’ held his hands out defensively, pleading with Solas.

“Solas!” she cried out, scared. “Solas, no, don’t!”

He turned his head towards her, and she was well and truly terrified. He looked nothing like Solas, and every bit like Fen’harel, the Dread Wolf. Fury blazed in his eyes; his lips were twisted into a feral, savage snarl, and his very countenance showed him to be a wild, dangerous thing.

She reached out towards his, trying to get to him, trying to stop him from what she knew would come next…

It didn’t work.

Even Cole’s pleas fell on deaf ears.

She could only watch horrified and in agony as he set the mages on fire. She could hear their tortured screams, watched them run around in a vain attempt to put out the flames that engulfed them; could smell the charred flesh in the air, and knew, when the screams were cut off abruptly, when there was silence again, that they were all dead.

She wept, tears sliding down her face and mixing with the earth. “Solas,” she cried out, sobs wracking her already tormented body, “why? Why?” she cried, “they were just scared, I helped you save her, why did you have to kill them Solas, why?”

He said nothing, only stared at her with that terrifying, beastly expression on his face. And then he turned and walked away from her.

“Solas!” she cried out. “Please! Don’t leave me!” she pleaded. “Solas!” she tried to shout, but her throat was raw, “Solas, I need help, please.”

She waited for several long moments before she understood he would not come back to help her. She wept harder, scared and in pain, the sly voices in her head gleefully delighting in her misery and sorrow. Her vision grew dark, and she knew she could not fight it any more. Her body burned, her mind was beginning to twist, and she could feel the evil trying to leach into her soul. “Cole,” she gasped with whatever strength she had left, “find help, please.”

He was shaking agitatedly, but he nodded. “It wants you to give in. You cannot! It will turn you dark, dark like the ones sleeping behind the mirror.”

She didn’t understand what he was saying. She didn’t want to try to understand. She had no energy left, and betrayal was still blazing bright in her heart. “Get help, Cole,” she gasped again, finally shutting her eyes and letting the darkness take her under.

 <hr>

Firm hands were shaking her awake. “For the love of the Maker, Samarra, open your eyes!” she could her an agitated voice exclaim. It sounded familiar. She felt her head being propped up, felt the coolness of a glass vial being pressed to her lips, the liquid contents pouring into her mouth and flowing down her throat. Her eyes flew open as a terrible, terrible taste registered in her mind.

“Thank the Maker!” Dorian’s face swam in front of her, and she could vaguely make out Helena’s face behind his. Dorian looked terribly scared, and she wondered why.

“What… happened?” she frowned as she heard her voice. It sounded… off. Slightly… malevolent.

“You tell me,” Dorian retorted, worry still ripe in his eyes. “One moment we’re talking to the marshal in charge of Fort Revasan, the next Cole is panicking in front of us, shouting something about corruption and betrayal and wolves, and leads us straight to you, in the same place where Solas was this morning, except there’s no pride demon. But there are five dead mages,” he added as an afterthought.

Helena gasped. “Is Solas okay?” she asked worriedly.

“He’s… fine.” Lord help her, she was going to die, she knew it. This… thing… was trying to suck up the essence of her, and it _hurt_. “The mages… summoned a spirit of Wisdom… Solas’ friend… they ordered it to kill some bandits… it was a harmless spirit… it was forced to kill…”

“Yes, yes, we know that bit,” Dorian said impatiently, running his hands over her, checking for injuries. “What happened? How did you get here?”

“Don’t… remember…” she lied. “Demon was… corrupted… so...I took… the corruption...into myself…” she coughed; her lungs felt like they wanted to escape through her mouth. “It… saved the spirit… but it… hurts… so bad…”

“Why didn’t Solas help you?” Helena asked angrily. “And what happened to the mages?”

“I… don’t know what… happened… to the mages…” she lied again. “Solas… left… I… asked him to help… but… he left…” tears were rolling down her cheeks.

“That bastard,” Helena hissed.

“Samarra,” Dorian said quietly. “Do you know anything about what you’ve done?”

She shook her head weakly. “Only way… to… save her…” she explained.

“ _Mea dulce_ ,” he whispered. “I have only heard of demon-corruption. It is a blackness that eats away the soul. Samarra, it will kill you,” he said despairingly. “I do not have a cure.”

“Won’t let it… kill me…” she said, a faint smile on her face.

He made what sounded suspiciously like a sob, and nodded. “No, you won’t. You’re going to fight it with everything you have.”

She felt someone take her hand and grip it tightly. “You idiot,” a teary voice spoke up. “You absolute, moronic idiot. You can’t keep sacrificing yourself for other people. It was just a demon!” Helena sobbed. “Why did you have to help it?”

“Important… to Solas,” she tried to explain.

“Solas,” Helena spat. “He was more than willing to accept your help, but ran away when you needed him. If he ever comes back, I’ll kill him myself.”

Cole protested. “He wasn’t himself, too much anger, hurt, pain, they caused all this, _da’assan I cannot forgive, see what they made you do_. He ran because he would hurt her if he stayed.”

Helena seethed. “That’s it. I’m getting Cullen to hunt him down and kill him.”

Samarra gripped the Inquisitor’s wrist weakly. “Please… no. He… hurts. He was… so scared…”

“He _left you_ when you needed him. Left you in _pain_.” Helena growled. “I cannot forgive that.”

“He is… important… to the Inquisition,” she gasped, her body shivering, skin blazing with a fever. “Must not… turn him away…” She looked pleadingly at Helena. “Please…”

Helena gritted her teeth. “Fine,” she ground out. “I won’t kick him out, I won’t hunt him down. But I _will_ have something to say to him,” she hissed, and Dorian nodded in agreement.

“Where… are we?” she asked, licking her very chapped lips, trying to ignore the sly pull of the darkness in her.

“In the Dalish camp,” Helena said. “Keeper Hawen of Clan Dirtharon was kind enough to offer shelter. The Inquisition camp was too far away for us to take you there,” she explained.

“Okay…” she whispered, as the darkness loomed in her vision once again. “Tell them….” she fell into the black pit once again.

  
<hr>

**  
POV Dorian**

She slid in and out of consciousness for a week, fighting off the darkness that hungered for her light. She burned with a fever that was unnatural, and several times he had thought her dead, but always, even when she turned pale, and her lips blue, her heart still beat faintly in her chest, and she clung to life with a tenacity that amazed him.

He cursed Solas a thousand times over, cursing his selfishness, his betrayal of someone who was nothing but kind and caring. She had nearly given up her life to save one of his spirit friends, and he thanked her by leaving her in pain? Dorian clenched his fist at the thought. Maker only knew how long Samarra had been lying in the field. It had taken them a few hours to reach her, even on the horses that they had with them. When they’d spotted her, Helena had burst out into horrified tears, certain that Samarra was dead. He too, had felt the cold hand of dread wrap around his chest. Miraculously, she was alive, and they’d immediately taken her to the nearest safe spot. Dorian had thanked the Maker, and fate, that the Inquisitor had had the heart to help out the Dalish - they were welcoming of her, and more than willing to shelter Samarra.

Unfortunately, Helena couldn’t stay with Samarra, not knowing how long it would take for the crimson-haired woman to recover - if she did at all. She’d reluctantly left Samarra in Dorian’s care, not trusting Vivienne. The Dalish healer - Thelhen - thankfully was not familiar with the symptoms of demon-corruption, or they’d have killed Samarra immediately. He’d informed the Dalish healer that Samarra had been poisoned with an ancient, subtle Tevinter poison, one that had no antidote save time. He’d had to come up with a cover story, the elves curious to know why she had been poisoned. He gave them a partial truth, that she was able to see into the future, had come to help out a friend, but had been betrayed in return.

It was quite close to the truth.

He looked down at her, thin and pale and so frail, eyes sunken into their sockets, black veins creeping up her neck and jaw. She looked horrible, looked almost like a ghoul, but each time she opened her eyes and spoke his name, he knew she was still herself.

Almost a fortnight later, he began to notice a change. The blackness in her veins was receding, her fever was less pronounced. She seemed to breathe more easily. Even the healer agreed with his cautious optimism. When she opened her eyes that day, they seemed more clear, and she seemed more aware of what was happening around her. He started feeding her, clear broth at first, and slowly, as her condition improved over the next few days, moved her to solid foods. When she was able to eat by herself, without help, he quietly asked her the question that had been on his mind so long: _How had she recovered?_

She swallowed the spoonful of stew. “Honestly?” she said, her eyes gazing off into the distance, unseeing. “I couldn’t abandon my friends. I didn’t want to leave you guys,” she said, returning her attention to him, a small smile on her face, covering his hand with hers.

He’d grinned and sassed her about her ‘corny answer’ but he’d felt very warm inside.

When they returned to Skyhold on one of the scout wagons, he took careful care of her, making sure she didn’t exert herself, making sure she ate properly, and chiding her when she refused to sleep. Once they actually reached the fortress, he’d rushed her straight to the Infirmary to get one of the spirit healers to look at her. Anders had examined her, and had confirmed that she was all right, that she had none of the demon-corruption in her; he didn’t understand all that the mage had said, only something about ‘her light burning away the darkness.’

That, he could believe. Because that was what Samarra did.

Leliana had scolded her terribly, so much so he actually felt a little bad for Samarra, but he knew that the spymaster had been terribly worried about Samarra. For all of the Nightingale’s ruthlessness, the redhead had a soft spot for the seeress, and it showed. Leliana tried asking Samarra how she ended up in the Plains, but Samarra had looked confused and lost and claimed she didn’t know, she’d been taking a nap and woke up to find herself in the Plains. Dorian theorized to the spymaster that it might have been some kind of a magnified Fade-step, something to do with Samarra’s markings and strange powers, and the Nightingale had reluctantly agreed with his hypothesis.

Samarra seemed to be returning to normal, but Dorian suspected that she was still a bit shaken up over how Solas had treated her. She used to spend a lot of time in the rotunda, just curled up on one of the couches and reading, but now she hardly spent any time there. He’d tried his best to distract her, but for all his efforts there was something hidden deep in her eyes, something that made him worry.

He could only hope that time would heal the wounds in her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> _mea dulce_ \- my sweet
> 
> * * *
> 
> Okay, this took a bit longer than I expected, whoops. One thing is that getting back into writing feels so dang rusty! And second, my brain keeps dangling plot ideas for other stories, which I'm currently very studiously ignoring because _I want to finish one story at least_ but goddamn, is it hard when I keep thinking "what if..." all the time.
> 
> Ahhh, Solas. You do-things-impulsively-then-regret-it-later poster child. I wonder if you've bungled things up too much this time round...


	89. Courage, Like Friends, Come In All Forms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
> * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skyhold's received a letter from the Pavus family.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Update frequency: _y'all I don't even know anymore, my brain is just... nuts._
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *

It was when she saw Mother Giselle talking with Leliana, a flustered look on her face, that Samarra realized something was off. The Chantry mother seemed to be arguing with the spymaster, who only shrugged, said something in return, and walked away.

If Mother Giselle was involved, and Dorian was in Skyhold… yeah, she knew where this was going. But why was it happening now? When Helena was away? Surely it was the Inquisitor who accompanied Dorian to the meeting…

Mother Giselle caught sight of her, and her eyes lit up. She made her way towards Samarra, a sheet of parchment in her hand. Samarra’s stomach sank. This was not good. First, Solas’ companion quest had gone so wrong; the Inquisitor had had nothing to do with helping Solas, not to mention the fact that the stupid Egg had just abandoned her. He still wasn’t back, although Samarra knew he would be - he couldn’t leave the Inquisition, not without his orb. And now, a second companion quest without the Inquisitor? She chewed on her lip nervously. This was not good. How was Helena supposed to become close to her Inner Circle?

_Ummm. The Inquisitor’s been spending a lot of time with them, you know. What with the whole travelling here and there and fighting demons and bandits and shit…_

_Yeah, I get it, but these are personal quests. You know, meant to bring them closer on an individual basis?_

_Think rationally for a moment. You like Dorian, right? And he likes you? If you didn’t go on this quest, do you think any chance of getting closer to him is forever gone? No, right? You’re still going to be spending time with him. Just because the Inquisitor isn’t there for one or two personal quests isn’t going to change anything. And with the amount of work she has, it’s not going to be even possible for her to do each single quest. I mean, think about it logically. The game had fast travel, right? Does Thedas have that? Nope! It takes ages to get around from place to place, and it takes weeks to restore order - not the hours that the game called for._

_I get what you’re trying to say, but I really want Helena and Dorian to be BFFs._

_If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen on it’s own, dumbass. A single quest won’t change things is all I’m saying. I mean, take Leliana; you foiled the whole Butler thing where Helena was supposed to interfere, and you can see her softening, right? Because of her_ _other_ _interactions with Helena?_

_Okay, so that’s Varric, Solas and Bull done. Sera wants Cullen to send in troops to Verchiel but hasn’t mentioned when, so I guess it’s safe to assume her quest is next? So that leaves us with, ummm, let’s see… Blackwall, but that won’t happen till after Halamshiral so we’ve got time. Cassandra’s having trouble tracking down the Seekers, so again, we’ve got time. There’s the matter of dealing with Samson. Josephine’s tracking down the amulet for Cole… man, I still can’t believe that Cole didn’t ask me for help. He went straight to Solas! It’s not fair._

_So, Blackwall, Cassandra, Cole… and Vivienne._

_Vivienne’s personal quest is just downright... I know Helena’s spoken to her about asking me for help, but the woman’s so damn stubborn!_

_If Bastien is dying of old age there’s not much you can do, regardless._

_Yeah, but I’d at least like to know I tried something, you know? I could tell Helena the location of the snowy wyvern but I don’t want her poking around the Gamordan Stormrider._

_True._

“My lady Samarra,” Mother Giselle was polite. “If I may have a moment of your time?”

“Of course, Mother Giselle,” she replied. “How can I help?”

“I have news regarding one of the Inquisitor’s companions.” The revered mother shifted uncomfortably. “The Tevinter.”

“Has Dorian done something wrong?” she asked pleasantly, but there was a sharp edge to her tone.

Mother Giselle flushed. “No, thankfully. Nothing like that,” she hastened to add. I have been in contact with his family. House Pavus, out of Qarinus. Are you familiar with them?” she asked hopefully.

_Yes, but not in the way you think._

“He’s mentioned his family,” she said casually, “but I do not believe they are on good terms.”

“Yes, I believe you’re correct,” Mother Giselle eagerly nodded. “The family sent a letter, describing their estrangement from their son, and pleading for my aid. They’ve asked to arrange a meeting, quietly, without his knowledge. They fear it is the only way he will meet them. However…” she hesitated. “I find myself unable to do so. You are close to him, are you not? Perhaps you can help? I had initially hoped to approach the Inquisitor for help but Sister Leliana informs me the Inquisitor will be gone for a few more weeks, and this matter is urgent.”

She frowned. _Guess I have to take over the dialogue options_. “What kind of meeting do they want? And, I mean no offense when I ask this Mother Giselle, but why would they contact you, and not the Inquisitor?”

“I believe they just want to talk, to understand why their son felt the need to run away and join the Inquisition. They don’t understand why he’s here, they want him to return home. They have asked for a meeting in a private place, away from Skyhold, but not in Tevinter. As for why they contacted me… The Inquisitor, I think, makes them nervous. They don’t know her. I am not a part of the Imperial Chantry, but they know what I represent.” Mother Giselle sighed deeply. “These are parents, deeply concerned about the welfare of their child. How could I not do whatever possible? I would speak to the young man myself, but… he does not care for me.”

“ It seems odd that they don’t want Dorian to know. I mean, it could be some kind of trap, with all the secrecy…”

The revered mother frowned. “It did occur to me that it could be a plot of the Venatori. Another reason for someone else to handle this matter. I pray that it isn’t the case, but if it is, you are in a position far better to deal with such treachery than I am.”

“Mother Giselle,” she said calmly, “I don’t mind helping, but I’m not going to trick Dorian. He is a good friend of mine, and I cannot deceive him knowingly.”

Mother Giselle sighed. “I was afraid of that. Very well. Here is the correspondence I have received from the family. They have indicated that they will send a retainer to meet the young man at the tavern in Redcliffe village, to take him onwards. If he truly does not wish to pursue this reunion, he can always end the matter there. We must act, if there is to be any chance of success.” Wishing her a good day, the revered mother left her.

As tempted as she was to read the letter, she knew it wasn’t right. It was Dorian’s matter. Though she knew his secret, and knew what was to come, it needed to be Dorian who made the decisions, not her. Letter in hand, she hunted down the Tevinter mage, suspecting he would be in his usual spot in the library, curled up on that decadent couch with a book and a glass of wine.

She was right. He looked up at her when her shadow fell on his book, a warm smile on his face. “Ahh, there you are,” he said cheerfully. “I was hoping I’d see you.” He noted the serious look on her face, and his own changed to reflect hers. “What’s on your mind?” he asked soberly.

“Dorian,” she hesitated. “There’s… there’s a letter you need to see.” She handed the stiff, official-looking envelope to the mage,

“What’s this, then?” he teased. “A naughty letter? Are you finally confessing your attraction to me, _mea cara_? It’s about time, you know.” His eyes landed on the broken seal on the envelope, and his entire countenance changed, his face hardening. “This is from my father. What does Magister Halward want, I wonder?”

He skimmed through the letter, a deep frown on his face. Samarra sat on the sofa across him, waiting for him to finish reading patiently. To give him a semblance of privacy, she picked up one of the books that lay scattered around and pretended to read it.

“I know my son?” Dorian burst out bitterly. “What my father knows of me would barely fill a thimble,” he spat. “This is just so typical of him!”

She reached out and gripped his arm. “What are you planning to do?”

He sighed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this retainer is really a henchman hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter,” he huffed.

“That would be hard to do while I stood there,” she teased.

That elicited a small smile from him. “He expects me to travel with Mother Giselle. Yet another sign of how much he really knows me - only the Maker knows why he thought I would.”

“So…?” she trailed off.

“Let’s go,” he said in a hard voice. “I want to meet this so-called family retainer my father’s sent for me.”

“Dorian,” she said hesitantly. “Are you okay with me accompanying you? Or would you rather have Mother Giselle write back and postpone the meeting to after Helena returns, so she can go with you?”

He stared at her, baffled. “Why would I want to do that?” he asked. “Yes, I think of Helena as a dear friend, but so are you. I know you’re here for me… unless, of course, you don’t want to get involved…?” he trailed off.

“Good god, no!” she exclaimed. “Of course I’m here for you, Dorian, never think otherwise, ever! I just thought, you know, you’ve spent more time with Helena, so you might be more comfortable with her.”

He mock-pouted. “Do none of our conversations mean anything to you? And to think of all the fine vintages I introduced you to. How you wound me! Here I thought were veritable peas in a pod.”

She laughed, and smacked his arm lightly. “Stop teasing me!”

“You ask the impossible, I fear,” Dorian joked, then turned serious once more. “I’ll have Leliana sent Helena a message about this, if it’ll make you feel better, so she’s kept in the loop.”

That touched her. “That… that sounds good,” she said. She quietly resolved to send one to Helena, briefly explaining the situation and the outcome.

“If it’s a trap, we escape, and kill everyone!” he exclaimed. “You’re reasonably good at that, aren’t you? If it’s not, I send the man back with a message my father can shove up his wit’s end.”

“That sounds like a plan to me,” she said with a smile.

Dorian was still angry. “I can’t believe my father’s gall. Of course he couldn’t come here, to Skyhold. _That_ would be _too much_ to do for his son! But contacting a southern cleric on the sly? Oh, so much wiser.” There was a trace of hurt in his voice, and she longed to just pull him in for a hug, but she knew it wouldn’t be well-received. His voice lowered. “If this is some Venatori connivance… I will be utterly disappointed.”

Leliana arranged their passage via carriage, not wanting Samarra to be outside Skyhold’s walls for too long. She hadn’t been happy that it was only the two of them travelling, and had insisted they take someone else along, which was why Felix was accompanying them. Dorian and Felix were huddled together, having a quiet discussion in whispers she could not overhear. She felt left out, but she suspected that Felix knew the truth about Dorian and so he was more comfortable talking to Felix than he was talking to her. She tried not to mind, instead closing her eyes and taking a nap.

A sharp whisper brought her out of her sleep. “You have to tell her!” Felix hissed.

Dorian sounded unsure. “What if she hates me?”

“You know she won’t. She helped me, even knowing who my father was. She won’t judge, Dorian.”

“I can’t bear to lose her as a friend, Felix.” Dorian sounded downcast, and it was all she could do to stop herself from telling him that she already knew everything and still thought of him as one of her closest friends.

“It’ll have to come out, sooner or later,” Felix said wisely. “The longer you hide it, the worse she’ll feel when you finally tell her.”

Dorian sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

They reached Redcliffe village in two days, having ridden in the carriage all day and all night continuously, only stopping to change horses and procure meals. Samarra didn’t mind, and neither did Felix, but Dorian grumbled about the lack of sleep. Despite the padded interiors of the carriage the ride had been a rather bumpy one, and sleeping well wasn’t the easiest thing to accomplish under those conditions.

The trio entered the tavern, surprised to find it completely empty. Well, at least Dorian and Felix were surprised; she knew what was to come.

“Uh-oh, nobody’s here,” Dorian muttered. “This doesn’t bode well.” He slowly reached for his staff.

A smooth, deep voice slid out from the shadows. “Dorian.”

They all spun around to find Magister Halward standing by the stairs that lead to the rooms above.

“Father,” Dorian hissed.

She was too busy staring at Dorian’s father to pay attention to Dorian. Halward was a tall man, though not as tall as his son, good looking in his own way - he was in his early forties, she’d place him. His skin was deeper than Dorian’s, lined with the lightest of wrinkles, but they added character to his face instead of making him look old and haggard. He stood straight and tall and proud, much like Dorian, but his hands were clasped together in a nervous manner. He looked so much like Dorian; they had the same eyes, the same nose, even a similar facial structure. Where Dorian had black hair, Halward’s was a chocolate brown, and Halward’s lips were wider and slightly thicker than Dorian’s was.

She hated how smug and arrogant he looked, how he stood there looking at them as though they were errant children who didn’t know any better.

“I supposed the whole ‘family retainer’ business was a smoke screen, then” Dorian said bitterly.

“Then you were told.” Halward declared in a bored tone as he approached them. “I see you’ve brought friends along.”

“You know Felix,” Dorian said, gritting his teeth.

“Ah yes. A pity about your father,” Halward drawled, but his tone held no sympathy.

Felix clenched his fists and muttered about giving Dorian some privacy, then left the room.

“I see your choice in friends remains the same,” Halward smirked.

“At least I can say I _have_ friends,” Dorian retorted.

Halward waved his hands dismissively. “It’s of some consolation that the Inquisitor didn’t accompany you. The last thing we need is someone of her influence uncovering our family business.”

“What is this exactly, Father?” Dorian’s voice was icy. “Ambush? Kidnapping? Warm family reunion?”

“I think we can rule one of the three out,” Samarra joked weakly. “You know I’m not letting you go anywhere you don’t want to.”

Both the Pavuses ignored her. Dorian’s father rolled his eyes and huffed. “This is how it has always been,” he said in a subdued, regretful tone.

Samarra sighed. “You went through all of this to get Dorian here. Talk to him,” she advised Halward.

Dorian laughed bitterly. “Yes, Father,” he mocked. “Talk to me. Let me hear how mystified you are by my anger.”

“Dorian, there’s no need to…” Halward warned.

He spun to face her. “I prefer the company of men. My father… disapproves.”

_Oh, Dorian._ She did what she’d always wanted to do each time she did his quest, and wrapped her arms tightly around him, enveloping him in the warmest hug she could manage. “Who gives a fuck,” she muttered into his jacket, and he let out a startled bark of laughter.

“This display is uncalled for,” Halward said disapprovingly.

Dorian disentangled himself from her grip, and turned towards his father. “No, it is called for. You called for it by luring me here.”

“This is not what I wanted!” Dorian’s father grumbled.

“I’m never what you wanted, Father,” Dorian said, anger and hurt and heartbreak in his voice, and she couldn’t help the tears that slid down her face as her heart ached for him. “Or had you forgotten?”

She wept as she heard Dorian talk about how his father had tried to use blood magic to change who he was, wept as Dorian’s voice broke as he said, “You tried to _change_ me.”

“I only wanted what was best for you,” Halward pleaded, but Dorian was too upset to listen, and walked out of the tavern. She followed behind him.

“He only wanted what was best for him,” Dorian seethed. “For his fucking legacy. Anything for that, but he can’t accept his son.” Tears sprung to his eyes.

She hugged him again, drawing him into a secluded corner out of curious eyes. “I know you don’t want to, Dorian,” she said quietly, “and god knows I hate your father for what he tried to do to you. But…” she sighed. “I think you should talk to him. Don’t leave it like this. Even if he spouts nothing but nonsense, you won’t forgive yourself if you don’t give it a chance.”

He sighed softly, defeatedly, and she rubbed his back reassuringly. “Dorian, I don’t care who you sleep with. I don’t care that you’re gay. I _do_ care that you are a good person, and I will always, always be proud to call you my friend. Whatever happens in there, with your father, I want you to know… you will always have someone. You’ll always have me.”

Dorian wiped away the tears that fell from his eyes, chuckling as he saw her tear-stained face. “I know you like to imitate a water faucet, _mea dulce_ , but do you have to turn me into one, too?” He gently wiped the tears from her face. “Only for you, my friend,” he said softly, and walked back into the tavern.

She could make out bits and pieces of their conversation. She could hear Halward’s grieved voice, and knew that the man was trying to mend his relationship with his son. She waited outside with Felix, asking him if he was okay after what Halward had told him.

“It’s okay,” he shrugged. “I had gotten used to people not lumping me in with my father. I should have expected it - outside of Skyhold, I’ll always be connected to him.”

“I hear Alexius is doing good work for the Inquisition,” she said hesitantly.

“My father…” he sighed. “He wants to redeem himself. I hope he can.”

“Only time will tell, Felix.”

“I know.”

They moved on to lighter topics, discussing the latest research he and Minaeve were involved in, something to do with despair demons. Felix was frustrated because Minaeve was talking about putting together an expedition to study demons; she wanted to sketch out their shape and form, see them in action, and use that information to conduct further tests on the samples that Helena routinely brought back. Felix was worried; neither of them were particularly capable of defending themselves should the need arise, but Minaeve had apparently become emboldened by her dragon-studying expedition, and wasn’t fazed in the least.

It was dusk when Dorian finally came out of the tavern. He looked lighter, freer.

“I take it it went well?” she asked.

Dorian nodded, He sat down on the stretch of broken wall next to them, and stared speculatively out at Lake Calenhad. “He’s a good man, my father, deep down. He taught me that principle is important. He cares for me, in his way, but… he won’t ever change.” He sighed. “I can’t forgive him for what he did. I just… I can’t,” he said quietly.

She placed her hand on his thigh. “No one says you have to, Dorian. What he did… I hate him for it. I can’t forgive him either, Dorian.” Her voice cracked. “If he’d succeeded, I wouldn’t have had you as my friend.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “I should have guessed you already knew.”

She nodded.

“For how long?”

She smiled. “I knew even before I met you, _corami_.” 

“And it didn’t bother you? It didn’t disgust you?” His eyes sparked with hope.

She shook her head fiercely. “No, Dorian, never. Other things have bothered me about you - seriously, do you really have to use so much mustache wax? - but this? This is such a small issue. It’s a non-issue, really.”

“You know what he tried to do to me, then.”

She hugged him again, and this time he leaned into her embrace. “Yeah. Your father is a massive dick.”

He laughed quietly. “I suppose he is.”

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He sighed. “No. Not really.” He was quiet for a long time. “My father never understood. Living a lie… it festers inside you, like poison.”

“No one deserves that kind of life. Sometimes, we have to fight for what’s in our heart.”

“Exactly,” he mumbled against her shoulder. “Thank you for bringing me out here. It wasn’t what I expected but… it’s something. Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that display.”

She swatted his back. “Didn’t I just tell you I’d always be your friend? I think you’re so very brave, Dorian. It’s one of the hardest things to do, to abandon tradition and walk your own path. Few even think to do it, let alone attempt it… but here you are. A man with a good heart, good principles, and one I’m honored to call a friend.”

“You’re turning me into a water faucet again,” he muttered, “and I don’t like it.”

“Well too bad,” she laughed, tears in her voice. “You’ll just have to get used to it.”

“For you? I think I can put up with it.” She swatted him again, and he pulled back, a cheeky smile on his face. “At any rate, I think we ought to find our rooms and drink ourselves into a stupor. It’s been that kind of day.”

“Count me in,” she said, getting up and hauling the two men to their feet.

When they returned to Skyhold, there was a message waiting for Dorian from Helena. He tore open the missive, and read its contents, Samarra peering over his shoulder and reading along with him.

_Dorian,_

_Your father’s an ass. Like mine, really. They should form an ass club. Hah. Get it? You’re fine just the way you are, and you’re my friend. End of story. Drinks on me when I get back. Don’t be mad at Samarra. She wanted you to know we care for you._

_Helena_

He turned to her, mustache twitching in amusement. “I should have expected you’d tell her,” he shook his head. “Whatever am I going to do with you, _mea dulce_?”

“Well,” she said, linking her arm with his, “there’s this bottle of rare Treviso red that Josephine was _supposed_ to have gifted to Marquis Nothal…

“Say no more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> _mea dulce_ \- my sweet
> 
> _corami_ \- 'friend of my heart' (cor/heart + amicus/friend)
> 
> * * *
> 
> Here I am, again! *jazz hands* I've been (slowly, very slowly) getting back into writing again, but it's tough work now that my brain doesn't practically live 24/7 in Thedas. [Not gonna lie, I miss that sometimes!] I know I'm waaaaaaaaaaaay behind on replying to comments [thank you for leaving them - I cannot emphasize enough how wonderful it is to read each and every one of them, and how amazing they are at lifting me up on even the darkest day!] but I'll get to them soon, I promise ♥
> 
> I love Dorian. Not just because he's snarky and a snazzy dresser and has a quip for everything, not just because he's so very incredibly intelligent - but because he's an insecure, loyal, kind-hearted, brave, inspirational character who _insists_ on being who he is and staying true to himself no matter what. I have this secret wish to drink wine with him, peer out of one of Skyhold's windows and listen to him make snarky comments on the fashion of the nobles who visit - how epic would that be?
> 
> I _finally_ managed to create Samarra and Helena in the CC the way I wanted. It took such a long time, and many trials, but I'm so very pleased with how they turned out! Now if I could only magically gain enough artistic ability to draw the lot of them :)


	90. Shame Is Not The Only Consequence Of Your Actions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas returns to Skyhold. Someone is _not_ happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: ??? dude I give up trying to guess
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I've put the translations for the elven dialogue right after the dialogue itself - it seems to be the most convenient for both PC and mobile users. Let me know if you'd like me to continue doing so!
> 
> * * *

**POV Solas**

He walked through the portcullis slowly, eyes roaming around the fortress seeking her out.

He swallowed. What would he even say to her? How could he even begin to justify what he’d done without exposing who he was?

He could still hear her pleas echoing in his head. It had haunted his dreams, leaving him restless and ashamed. And that look of horror on her face as he’d dispensed his justice to the heartless, thoughtless   _shemlen_ …

She had been terrified. There was no other word for it. He had scarred and betrayed her, and he surely had no hope for her forgiveness.

And yet… he could not help hoping. She was so bright, his _fen’leal_. Surely, surely she would offer him mercy if he begged and pleaded…

The wolf in him recoiled away at the idea of bowing down. Taking a deep breath, he sought to regain control of the wolf.

It had been a foolish decision, brought on by that potent mixture of fury and fear and panic he’d felt at the time. He had avoided the wolf ever since his awakening, knowing that he lacked the power to control his spirit half. But the sight of Wisdom, so tortured and corrupted, had broken him. His oldest and best friend would die, and he could do nothing about it - even though he’d been warned. Her death would be the result of his negligence, and that - that he could not bear. The thought had caused him to enter the Fade and seek out his wolf.

Fen’harel had appeared almost instantly, gloating and gleeful.

He hadn’t been able to take the full power of the wolf - doing so would have put him at a serious risk of losing all control, and his carefully maintained facade within the Inquisition would shatter - but the little that he had was changing him, he knew. It was hard enough to control himself around Samarra… with the wolf present, it would become insurmountably more difficult to stop himself from dragging her to a corner and claiming his part of their deal, binding her to him.

The wolf howled approvingly at the thought.

He reminded himself to be patient. He did not want her to fear him. He wanted her to come to him willingly.

The sight of her, in pain, scared and wounded had driven the wolf to madness. It needed revenge against those who hurt the one he’d chosen, and he had attacked the mages even as she’d pleaded with him not to. But nothing short of their very lives would have satiated the wolf, for it needed to know that they would no longer exist to hurt her again.

If he had lingered around her, he would surely have taken her against her will, and it could have killed her in her weakened condition. She didn’t know that, and he could never tell her that. Better she thought he had abandoned her, and seek her forgiveness. He could only hope it worked.

A prickling on his skin alerted him that she was nearby. He lifted his head; she was walking down the stairs, a crate in her hands. There was a small smile on her face as she navigated her way down the stairs, placing one foot carefully after another. It was the smile that drew him in; he wanted it to be for him, not for what she was doing- He walked towards her as though he was in a trance of some sort. His shadow fell across her path, and she raised her head, a quizzical look on her face.

And she stiffened instantly when she saw him.

He felt a swift stab of hurt, although he could not fault her. Nor could he blame her for the hint of fear that lurked in her eyes, although a part of him felt utterly miserable when he saw it. The wolf was saddened too, yowling mournfully deep within him, urging him to take her in his arms and soothe away her pain.

“ _Da’assan,”_ he murmured, taking a step towards her.

He thought he saw a flash of anger on her face, but it was gone so quickly he could not be sure. She had always been so good at hiding herself from him, he thought, equal parts sorrowed and frustrated. She gave of herself freely to the others, but she would not do the same for him.

And now, he feared she might never.

“How are you, Solas?” she asked politely, in the same tone she used to deal with the insufferable nobles who clamored for her attention and favor.

“I fare better,” he said simply, waiting to see how she would react.

There was a shutter over her eyes now, a neutral expression on her face. He hated that. He wanted none of that reserved facade she put on for those she did not trust.

“How is Wisdom?” she asked, after a long, awkward silence.

“Recovering. The trauma has shaken her, and for a while I feared her nature would be altered by the pain she had been exposed to. I believe the knowledge that you would help her should she need it calmed her. Now she recovers her strength. It will take time, but it is better than watching her die,” he said in a low voice.

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said.

Again, a period of uncomfortable silence. He found he could not look directly at her. “Thank you for coming back,” she said.

Startled, he returned his gaze to her. “I… you were a true friend,” he said softly. “You did everything you could to help. I could hardly abandon you now.”

The corner of her lips lifted upwards in a slight, mocking smile. “I meant for the Inquisition,” she corrected. “They need your help and expertise.”

“And you?” he asked quietly, taking another step towards her.

She cleared her throat, and looked away. “Where did you go?” she asked casually.

Was that a sign she cared? That she had been concerned for him? He hoped so. “I found a quiet spot and went to sleep. I visited the place in the Fade where my friends used to be. She was there, as were two spirits I had not met before.”

She smiled to herself at that, and he wondered why. Did she know Knowledge and Purpose?

“I wonder…” she trailed off.

“What is it you wonder?” he prompted.

“I’m only curious; I certainly mean no offense. What happens when a spirit dies?”

“It isn’t the same as for mortals. The energy of the spirit returns to the Fade. If the idea giving the spirit form is strong, or if the memory has shaped other spirits, it may someday rise again.”

“What happens when mortals die?” she pondered out loud, and he was quietly hopeful at the fact that she seemed normal again, that they were once again having the kind of discussions he found a great deal of pleasure in. The wolf seemed to agree with him, and purred in approval.

“No one knows. You must have heard of the Chantry teachings, of course; that if a soul was good, they join the Maker, otherwise they are cast adrift into the Void. There is no way we can be certain of what happens after death.”

She shifted the crate slightly in her arms. “I think… well. It doesn’t matter what I think.” she gave him a pleasant smile. “It’s nice to see you, Solas. Helena isn’t back from the Plains yet, but I’m sure she’ll be happy to know you’re safe and well.” She adjusted the crate again. “I must be off; need to get these things to Blackwall’s room. See you later!” She stepped around him, and began to walk in the direction of the stables.

“Samarra,” he called out quietly. She stilled.

“Yes?” she asked, not turning around.

He stood there silently, staring at her back. There was a frailness to her, a kind of weakness that he hadn’t noticed before, and he knew, that while she had battled and defeated the corruption, it would take some time for her body to return to the state it had been in. A surge of anger rushed through him as he remembered how she had pulled the blackness into her. She shouldn’t have had to do it. It should have been the mages who bound Wisdom who should have suffered the pain she had.

She huffed. “Solas, I really need to get going. This crate is kind of heavy.”

“I am sorry,” he rushed out, “I should not have left you.”

She froze, then deliberately made herself relax. “And you should not have killed those mages. But you did both,” she said calmly, as though she were remarking about the weather. “Though I’m sure you had your reasons.”

“Samarra,” he walked to stand in front of her. She would not meet his gaze. “I truly am sorry. _Ir abelas, falon. Deame del ma unvaran. Ir abelas. Lanastas’em, sathan._ ” (I’m sorry, my friend. I was wrong to leave you. I’m sorry. Forgive me, please.)

“ _Irlahnan’las dianas. Irlahnan’las ma halani,_ ” she said softly. (I begged you to stop. I begged you to help) _“Undalas esh’ala. Ma i’varem. Ma te’halani em! Deame nu, i’na varem’em!” (_ You killed them. And you left. You didn’t help me! I was in pain, and you left me!)

“ _Eolasan. Ame telam’ala’lan. Ame tel’gonate ma lanaste, y’irlahnan’as’ra.”_ (I know. I am a terrible person. I am not worthy of your forgiveness, but I beg for it.)

“ _Ar telan,_ ” (I cannot) she whispered, and it stabbed him in his heart. She had forgiven so many others, had even forgiven the Wardens for what they had done. If she could not forgive him, then he had hurt her far deeper than he’d feared.

“ _Sathan, ir abelas”_   (please, I'm sorry.) he pleaded. “ _Tel’nuvenan ma’nin.”_ (I don't want you angry at me.)

 She shook her head and stared at the ground. “ _Ma nuem’em. Ar silem na lethallin, ar lahnem falon, i’na varem’em.”_ (You hurt me. I thought of you as a close friend, I called you a true friend, and you left me.)

It was her voice, so defeated and wounded, the slump of her shoulders that made it so much worse. He understood, then, that for all that they argued, for all that they fought, for all her vehement denials and her defensive walls, that she _had_ cared for him. That when she had called him _fenor_ she had meant it. And he had betrayed her so terribly, so thoroughly. It shook his core to know that she might never look at him the same way again, that the damage he had done might be irrevocable.

“Samarra,” he whispered, longing to pull her into his arms and soothe away everything. “ _Thu jusildearan na emma abelas? Dirtha’sul em sast’rahn, jusul’aman’ra na.”_ (How can I show you my sorrow? Ask me for anything and I will give it to you)

“ _Tel’nuvenan sast’rahn o’na. Ame na gealathe. Ar tel’eolasan lin’ehn na._ ” (I don’t want anything from you. I am fearful of you. I don’t know the person you are) she said quietly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.” She walked away from him, her head held high, but everything else about her was spiked with hurt.

The wolf howled at her pain, urging him to do something about it, to take it away from her. But he knew there was nothing he could do at the moment; he had hurt her and she had lost her trust in him. Only time would heal the wounds he’d caused.

Hanging his head in shame, he made his way to his room.

 

* * *

 

She was waiting, as was her habit, by the portcullis for Helena to arrive. Though there were crowds of people around her, most gave way to her, knowing her relationship with the Inquisitor. She beamed as Helena rode in on her Barded Charger, her hand raised to acknowledge the people who sang her praises.

The Inquisitor’s eyes met hers, and instantly a wide smile spread across the brunette’s face. When Helena got closer to her, Samarra reached out and took her mount’s reins, leading her towards the stables where Dennet was waiting.

“You’re well?” Helena asked her softly once she’d dismounted.

Samarra nodded. “Yeah. Dorian had Anders do a complete check up. I’m fine.”

“Thank the Maker,” Helena breathed, and pulled her into a hug. “ _Never_ again, you hear me?” she chided Samarra. “You are _forbidden_ from scaring me like that. Maker, Mara. I could barely concentrate on rescuing those Imperial troops, I was so worried about you. Don’t you _ever_ put me through that again, you hear me?”

She held the brunette tightly. “I promise I’ll try not to scare you like that again?” she said.

“That’s not what I asked, at all,” Helena grumbled.

“Hey, you scare me all the time,” Samarra reminded her as they entered the Grand Hall. “Each time you go out on those restoring-order missions of yours, don’t you think I’m terrified? I freak out!”

“But you have your visions,” Helena reminded her.

“Lena, my visions are based on a lot of stuff. If something changes, everything changes. They’re useful, but they don’t reassure me much, you know.”

“Well, you still have them,” Helena muttered. “Do you know how awful you looked, Mara? I swear… if it wasn’t for the fact that Vivienne was with us and would most certainly have cried out ‘possession!’, I’d have refused to leave your side. As it was, Dorian’s story about ancient Tevinter poisons only just took. I hated not being there for you, I’m sorry.”

“Hey!” she protested. “You had a job to do. You don’t dare apologize to me, I won’t have it. How about we leave that in the past… I mean, all’s well that ends well, right?”

“Has Solas returned?” Helena asked with a grim look.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “A week ago.”

“Interesting. Leliana failed to mention his return.”

“No doubt she knew if you’d heard he was back at Skyhold, you’d want to return too,” she said with a smile. “There were still things to be done, yes?”

“Still,” Helena grumbled. “It’s my right to yell at him, okay? Not just because I’m Inquisitor and he jeopardized the life of one of my companions, but… because he fucking just _left_ my sister alone where she could have fucking _died_ ,” her voice was filled with vicious fury, a kind Samarra had never heard before. She turned to face Samarra. “You are _not_ helping that apostate. I’ll find you other tutors if you want, and I’m sure Dorian will help you, but you _stay away_ from him. I won’t let him hurt you again.”

Samarra nodded, not knowing what to say.

“Well,” Helena sighed. “I need a bath. And then I’m going to meet with Solas.”

“Helena,” she said hesitantly.

“Don’t worry,” Helena’s voice was hard. “I already told you, I’m not going to kick him out. I’m not going to do anything to hurt him. But if he thinks he’s going to get away with what he did without consequences, he’s wrong.”

Samarra feared for Helena. She knew how much power Solas had, had seen the feral, vicious rage he could enter into, and she did not want Helena to get hurt. Helena needed a high approval with Solas. He needed to respect her, to admire her, or else there was a possibility he might have the Inquisitor killed. He respected the high approval Inquisitors enough to want them to lead a happy life, but an Inquisitor who earned his ire, and who insisted on opposing him… the Dread Wolf would not bear that. And she couldn’t let Helena die, not by his hand or his men’s.

“Helena,” she tried again. “I won’t go anywhere near him. Why do you need to drag this out?”

The brunette just stared at her. “Why are you defending him?” she raised her voice. “After all that he did to you, why are you protecting him? What is it, Mara? What are you not telling me? _Why are you scared of him_?”

Samarra was shaking when Helena finished talking. How did the brunette know that she was somewhat scared of Solas? What had given it away? She stood there, mute, not knowing what to say.

Helena moved closer to her. “Mara,” she said, her voice gentle. “Don’t worry. Whatever it is, we can deal with it. I’ll get Leliana to protect you, ask Cullen to assign guards to you. I’ll get Josephine to change your room, get Fiona to ward it. You’ll be safe. But you need to tell me what he did, so I can help you.”

Samarra sighed, and sat down on the settee in the Inquisitor’s chambers. “I…” she broke off. “Those mages, the ones who had summoned the demon?” Helena nodded encouragingly. “Lena, they were just scared. Arrogant, but scared. They’d been trying to make their way to an Inquisition camp, but then they were harassed by bandits. Circle mages, you know. From Kirkwall. Had no idea how to fight… so they summoned a spirit. Just unfortunate that they summoned a very gentle spirit. They forced it to kill the bandits, and that was when it turned into a demon…”

Helena gently squeezed her hand. “After I… after I helped Wisdom - the spirit - Solas helped send it back to the Fade. And… I swear, I swear I tried to stop him Lena, but I was in so much pain, it just hurt so much… even Cole tried to stop him, we both begged him not to…”

“But he killed the mages,” Helena finished, her face grim.

She nodded unhappily. “I tried, Lena,” she said, a hitch in her voice. “I just didn’t have enough strength. I’ve never seen him so angry. He was… he was furious. His face… the rage… I couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it was the same Solas.”

“Could he have become possessed?” Helena asked.

“No,” she replied immediately. “I spoke to him after he came back. Or rather, I ran into him when I was taking those Grey Warden memorabilia to Blackwall’s room,” she amended. “When he’d just returned. He asked me to forgive him.”

“The fucking nerve of him,” Helena spat. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him I couldn’t,” she said quietly. “But… I feel selfish for it, Lena. You forgave Alexius after all that he did, and he’d murdered a lot more people.”

Helena exhaled, her shoulders slumping. “You’re right,” she muttered. “I did forgive Alexius, didn’t I? Blast it all,” she muttered. “If I’d had him executed, I could punish Solas, but it wouldn’t be fair if I did so now.” She looked at Samarra. “But you don’t have to forgive him, or feel selfish for it. He hurt you. It’s totally understandable that you don’t feel particularly merciful towards him.” She sighed. “What am I going to do with him?”

Samarra patted her back. “That’s your call. Just don’t have him tortured or beaten or something,” she joked weakly. “That would be counterproductive.”

“Even if I really, really want to?” Helena looked at her with puppy dog eyes.

She laughed. “Won’t work on me, Lena. Besides, you’re the Inquisitor,” she teased. “You can’t be asking me what to do!”

“You’re the Oracle of the Inquisition,” Helena retorted. “Who else am I going to ask?”

“Okay, forget all that now, and tell me what you saw in the Plains.”

“Maker, I hope I never have to go back there again. It’s not a bad place, but it needs a lot of work to be restored. It must have been beautiful once…” Helena told her all about her travels in the Dirthavaren, and she listened intently, trying to picture everything in her mind.

 

* * *

 

**POV Solas**

He was mulling over the choice of color he would need to for the Warden insignia when the door to the rotunda burst open. His wolf snarled, sensing the hostile turn in the air, but he watched placidly as the Inquisitor strode towards him, a perfectly neutral expression on her face.

“I’m glad I caught you, Solas,” she said pleasantly. “I think we need to have a chat. Join me in my chambers, won’t you?”

When she phrased it like that, he could hardly refuse. And besides, he had a strong hunch as to what it was she wanted to talk to him about. He suspected he was not going to enjoy this conversation.

“I’m willing to give you a chance to explain your actions at the Plains, Solas,” she said in that unnaturally calm voice once they’d reached her room.

“I do not believe I owe you an explanation, Inquisitor,” he said stiffly, as the wolf rumbled in his chest.

“Bullshit.” Her voice was like the crack of a whip, barely-restrained fury coating every word. “You leave the Oracle, in pain, near death, without so much as lifting a finger to help her. You killed, mercilessly, five mages whose only crime was ignorance. As long as you are part of the Inquisition, you _will_ answer to me about your actions.”

“I was… not myself,” he said in the same stiff voice. “I have already apologized to Samarra about my actions.”

“And has she forgiven you?” Helena asked him cuttingly, and he had to force the wolf down.

“No,” he said shortly. “Nor did I expect her to.”

“Good,” she said, the calm facade she’d worn back on her face. “You understand, do you not, that in light of your recent actions I must take certain precautions. I cannot have the two of you habiting so close to each other…”

He protested sharply. “With all due respect, Inquisitor, we are both adults and are capable of dealing with the matter ourselves.”

“Is that so?” she quirked a brow at him. The wolf snarled at her arrogance. “Samarra is terrified of you, Solas. I cannot, in all good conscience, allow her to remain so close to the very person she is scared of. Furthermore, you are to cease any and all contact with her. You will not approach her. You will not talk to her. You will have no interaction whatsoever with her. Josephine is already looking into hiring tutors and trainers for Samarra, and Dorian has offered his expertise as well. Your services in that matter will no longer be needed.”

“This is madness!” he seethed. “Does she know you’re doing this?”

“I will not have you manipulate her!” she shouted. “I do not know what games you’re trying to play with her, but **I will not let you hurt her again** **_._ ** Understand this, Solas, and understand this very well: if you inasmuch as pluck a hair off of Samarra’s head, I _will_ hunt you down and skin you alive myself. Do you hear me? I will **not** let you hurt my sister like you did. Do you even know _what_ you did?” she hissed in fury. “When we got to her, she was nearly _dead_ . We _barely_ got to her in time. For _two weeks_ she fought against death. The blackness nearly ate away at her, nearly took over her soul. She burned with fever. She came so close to death several times, and Dorian could do _nothing_ but watch, because the _only person_ who could possibly even _remotely_ help her was a fucking _coward_ and had run away!”

A wave of guilt and shame rushed over him. He could picture her, scared, alone, wondering what was happening, trying her best to fight off the corruption. He could have done something to soothe the pain, could have found a way to lessen her load. Could have been around to murmur encouragements into her ear as she fought off the vileness. But instead, he chose to run away from her. For her own good, he’d thought, but he could see now that it hadn’t been of much help.

Still, she was alive. If he _had_ undertaken the ritual with her then, she would _definitely_ have died. That was a small consolation, but one no one but him would ever know.

Breathing heavily, she turned away from him to regain her composure. When she turned back to face him, she was calm once more. “You will stay away from Samarra, Solas. I have spoken to Cullen and Leliana about it, and she will be guarded from you at all times.”

His fists were clenched, his jaw taut when he spoke. “And what if I refuse to agree to your conditions, Inquisitor?”

“If you find my terms unreasonable, Solas, you are more than welcome to leave the Inquisition,” she said casually. “Even if Samarra claims that you are required, I’m sure we can find someone else to replace you.”

“And what if Samarra wishes to speak with me? To spend time with me?” he challenged.

She narrowed her eyes. “That is, of course, up to her, though I cannot see why she would.” her pose mirrored his, and they glared at each other for several long minutes.

The Anchor crackled in the silence, and suddenly comprehension dawned upon him. _Of course_ Helena would be fiercely protective of Samarra. After all, it was _his_ magic she bore in her hand; it was understandable that she would feel the same way towards her as he did. The knowledge served to calm him down; the Inquisitor genuinely thought she was doing what was best for Samarra.

He could understand that. Perhaps, were the tables turned, he would have laid down the same conditions that Helena had. He relaxed ever so slightly, but his wolf was still angry at being ordered to stay away from their chosen one. It would not accept it, and neither could he.

“I am amenable to your conditions,” he said quietly, a small sneer on his lips, “as long as I hear them directly from Samarra.”

Her eyes blazed. “Perhaps you forget who leads the Inquisition, Solas,” she said coolly. “It is not Samarra, although I place great value on her advice. _I_ am the Inquisitor. I make the decisions, and I’ve decided that you are a threat to the Oracle of the Inquisition. Allow me to repeat myself - if you have a problem with my decision, you are more than welcome to leave. We won’t stop you. Neither will Samarra, I’m sure. You have no idea how much you’ve scared her.”

His face fell slightly. “She’s scared of me?” he asked softly. He’d heard Helena say as such before, but had attributed it to her fury, and discarded it. Now, however...

“What did you expect?” the brunette mocked. “You left her when she was in pain, though she pleaded for your help! You killed five people in front of her, after she begged you not to!”

“But they were going to kill her,” he protested quietly. That got her attention, and he began spinning the lie. “They were casting a spell, Inquisitor. They had seen how she had approached the demon, how she had turned it back into a spirit. They were going to kill her, because they were scared of her. I tried to explain the matter to them, tried to explain what she had done, but they wouldn’t listen. I could do nothing but stop their hand before they struck Samarra.”

He could see Helena wavering, and he pressed his advantage. “It was not my deliberate intention to abandon her, Inquisitor. I… I was so horrified by what I’d done. It is a poor excuse, but… I would never deliberately hurt the seeress.”

“But she said the she and Cole were pleading with you to spare them…” Helena was hesitant, and he could almost see her trying to come to terms with the information he was giving her. 

“They could not hear what I heard. Cole is no mage, Inquisitor, he would not have understood what they were planning to do. And if Samarra was in as much pain as you say she was, perhaps she was in no condition to understand the hostility those mages were directing at her.” He lowered his voice, injecting a persuasive note into it. “Circle mages, Inquisitor, cannot understand the subtleties of the inhabitants of the Fade as I can. You know this well. Has Vivienne not claimed, on numerous occasions, that Samarra was possessed? That she was a blood mage? Those mages would have killed her, Inquisitor, because they _did not understand_. I could not allow it to happen. Would you have preferred I had allowed them to slaughter her in her weakened condition?”

“No…” the brunette said haltingly.

“I made a mistake, Inquisitor, a grave one, and I acknowledge it. But I would never want Samarra to fear me. I was protecting her, and I fear that she may have misunderstood my actions. There are two sides to every story, after all.”

Helena was quiet for a long time, and he waited. The wolf stared at her with sly eyes, knowing that his words had swayed her. “I will have to… reconsider certain matters,” she said at last. “But I will not budge on this. You will stay away from Samarra. However, should she forgive you, the condition no longer holds.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” he said with a short bow. “You have my word that I will do all I can to make up my transgressions to the seeress.”

“Don’t hurt her again, Solas,” Helena warned him in a low, dark voice. “Never again.”

He gave her a long look, saying nothing, before he left her presence, still seething internally.

Now he would have to find a way to regain Samarra’s trust. Which was going to be hard, given that the Inquisitor had apparently taken precautions to keep her away from him.

Fortunately… there was still the matter of a debt the garnet-haired woman had to pay.

And nothing would keep him from collecting his due.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, couple of things:
> 
> I've been putting off updating because honestly, I've kind of been dreading it. I've been getting comments from people who don't seem to have read the tags, accusing me of glorifying/romanticizing abusive relationships [not very many, thank goodness, but enough to give me pause and make me dread writing and posting].
> 
> That's not to say I don't value the comments you lovely folks leave [I'm still here posting! ^_^] and I cannot express just how much those kind words keep me going - so thank you very much, truly, for taking the time to comment. I really, truly do appreciate each and every one.
> 
> ((A general PSA: Please read the tags. And if this isn't a story you're comfortable reading, that's fine! You don't have to. There's no reason, however, to leave mean and/or accusatory comments. It makes me - and all writers, really - hesitant to post.)) 
> 
> All right, PSA over.
> 
> Fun fact - when I was writing this scene out I had the CLEAREST image of Helena facing off against Solas. I think that had to be one of my favorite scenes so far. Furious Helena is my jam ♥
> 
> The egg's going to have some trouble sticking to the rules, clearly. And isn't that going to be interesting? :D


	91. There's Always New Friends To Be Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samarra meets a few familiar - and unfamiliar - faces in the Inquisition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: hopefully more regular?
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *

“I’m happy to report that things seem to be going well in Wycome,” Leliana said as they met up around the war table. “My man Jester was able to smuggle in the Dalish hunters into the city, where they met up with a resistance group formed by the elves in the Alienage, and they struck at the red lyrium, which they exposed to the humans, as per your suggestion, Samarra. As you predicted, the humans joined forces with the elves, and turned on Duke Antoine. I’m told the fighting was quick but brutal, but Antoine is dead, as is his personal retinue, all of them Venatori agents. However, we have a new problem - most of Wycome’s nobles fled the city and are claiming the events at Wycome as an elven uprising that killed a beloved ruler. I fear that we haven’t seen the last of them.”

“Where is Clan Lavellan now?” Helena asked curiously.

“They are safe within the city. I have been informed that they have formed a friendly alliance with the humans, and the city looks to be moving towards one of peace for all of its citizens. There is worry that the other Free Marcher cities will turn on them. I suspect it might be true; my agents report troop movements from Markham and Hercinia.”

“You’re right, Leliana,” Samarra said grimly. “Cullen, you’ll need to send reinforcements into the city. Make sure you fly the Inquisition banner - the Marchers will hesitate to attack and make an enemy of us.”

“Would it not be better to use diplomacy?” Josephine asked.

“No,” Cullen interjected. “If we try to negotiate, the Marchers will kill the elves, then make apologies. If we are committed to helping out this Clan and the elves, we must fortify the city.”

“What he said,” Samarra agreed.

“Cullen, you’ll need to move quickly,” Helena warned. “If the Marchers are already advancing on Wycome we have little time to act.”

“There is already a contingent of soldiers near Wycome,” he assured the Inquisitor. “I had them deployed just in case,” he admitted sheepishly to Samarra.

“Good call, Commander,” she said. “Josie, we’ll still need your diplomats. The Marchers won’t attack with the see the Inquisitions’ presence, but they’ll still need to be convinced as to the truth. They’ll need to be shown proof of the red lyrium, and Antoine’s Venatori links.”

“I will inform her at once,” the ambassador nodded.

“Well then,” she said with a smile. “Everything looks on track for a good future for Clan Lavellan. If this goes off as it should - and I don’t see why it should not - Wycome will become a model city for what Thedas should be.”

“What do you mean?” Leliana asked curiously.

“Wycome will have a new elected City Council,” she explained, “headed by Clan Lavellan’s Keeper, city elves, and human merchants. They will rule the city fairly, and equally, for both humans and elves alike. Thanks to the Inquisitor,” she made a slight bow to Helena, “the Inquisition has shown that it stands for equality and justice for all.”

Helena flushed. “I did nothing,” she exclaimed. “This is your triumph.”

“No,” she corrected, “it is everyone’s triumph. We all had a part in this.”

“I can go with that,” Helena laughed. “Well, that is good news indeed. Let’s hope this last gambit works out. Are there any other matters we have to deal with?”

“We’ve word from Hasmal,” Cullen spoke up. “The city’s templars opted to not follow the Lord Seeker, and instead are attempting to protect Hasmal Circle, which sustained a significant amount of damage during the uprising. They have loyalist mages with them. Hasmal’s citizens are ready to throw the mages to the wolves, and there is talk of a mob hunt. They have requested our help in the matter. I can send some of our templars to help; Knight-Commander Brycen will be comfortable working with them, and they can secure safe passage to Skyhold for the mages.”

“I can arrange for safe passage from Hasmal, and make the city’s leaders believe they owe us a favor,” Josephine said with a glint in her eye. “We can have a favor owed to us with little effort on our part.”

“Both of those sound good,” Helena said decisively. “Josie, send someone to meet with the city’s leaders, and offer them help from our templars. Let’s bring those mages to Skyhold. Hopefully, the templars will join us, too. Brycen sounds like a good man.”

“He is,” Cullen agreed. “I will broach the idea with him.”

“Starkhaven seeks our aid in restoring Kirkwall,” Josephine brought up. “Prince Sebastian Vael mentions that he will be sending troops and workers to assist in the restoration and rebuilding of the city. I will plead for support from our allies around Thedas. Restoring Kirkwall, a symbol of all that’s happened, could be a significant act that cements our alliances.”

“Do we have to?” Leliana commented. “Is Corypheus not the greater threat? Kirkwall has survived this long, surely it can do so for a while longer.”

“No, Josie’s right, Leliana,”  Helena said slowly. “Not for the alliances and stuff, but going by what Samarra has said about the city, they could use help. We should help. Josie, go ahead and contact our allies.”

“Cullen,” Leliana spoke up, “Have we heard anything about the rebel mages in Wending Wood?”

“Ah, yes. The situation has been resolved. Knight Captain Briony lead a group of templars, and I believe she offered the mages there amnesty first. Few accepted; I was told that the rebel mages nearly killed one of their fellows when she tried to join us. We had to kill the others,” he said, directing a sympathetic look towards Samarra, “they would have happily slaughtered our men  _ and _ their own had we not. Wending Wood should be safe for travellers now.”

“I will inform the Arl of Amaranthine,” Josephine said, scribbling a note on his pad. “I’m sure he would be happy to know that the path to Denerim is now clear.”

“What about the mages who surrendered?” Helena asked.

“They were mostly young, clearly in over their heads. They were grateful for a way out. Briony is bringing them back to Skyhold, where they’ll be placed under Fiona’s mentorship; our men will still keep an eye on them until they settle down.” Cullen replied.

“Good to know.”

“I met someone in the tavern yesterday,” Samarra began. “A rather interesting lad by the name Donal Sutherland. He said he’d only just arrived at Skyhold, and was looking for someone to talk to. Mentioned something about bandits stalking our patrols, and how he’d have stopped them if he had a sword. It sounds like he wants to help.”

_ And you have to let him, because Sutherland is awesome, and awesome people belong in the Inquisition _ .

Leliana waved dismissively. “If he gives us the position, we can deal with the bandits ourselves. We can put him to work elsewhere.”

Cullen looked considering. “He wanted to help, you say? If he knows where they are, we can outfit him. It is a minor threat; we can test his mettle and eagerness to help.”

“I rather like Cullen’s suggestion,” Helena said, turning towards her, “but what do you think?”

“I think Cullen’s idea has merit,” she nodded.

“Excellent. If you see this Sutherland fellow, send him to Cullen.” Helena said.

“I’ll do that right after this meeting,” she promised.

“We have a request from the Grand Enchanter,” Josephine said, shuffling her notes. “She said some of the rebel mage cells were too remote for her people to contact, and requests the Inquisition’s help in bringing them in… or at least letting them know they will no longer have to worry about being chased by templars.” She shot Cullen an apologetic look.

“A simple matter,” Leliana said. “I’ll send some of my agents with a few mages from Redcliffe to persuade these cells to come in.”

“This means more mages in Skyhold, doesn’t it?” Cullen muttered.

“Cheer up, Commander,” Samarra said teasingly. “I’ll protect you. Or would you prefer the Inquisitor do that?” she said, giving them a mischievous glance.

He turned beet red, and Helena shot her an unamused look. Leliana and Josephine tried unsuccessfully to cover their chuckles.

“What?” she said innocently. “I did see you the other night. Our Commander’s mouth seemed to be doing some interesting things,” she smirked, and winked at Cullen, who began to rub the back of his neck.

“Samarra!” Helena hissed, embarrassed.

“Oh come on, you have to let me tease you. Where else am I going to get my fun? Besides, I don’t mean any harm, you know that.” She smiled at the two of them. “I’m happy for the both of you.”

“Ahhh… thank you… I think,” Cullen muttered, while Helena just laughed. Leliana and Josephine looked on, amused, but they chimed in soon after with their good wishes as well.

“You’re insufferable,” Helena said as they walked out of the room.

She grinned. “But you love me anyway,” she teased.

“And you’re lucky I do, or I’d have Cullen punish you,” Helena laughed.

“Oh, is that so?” she teased, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Helena shook her head and smacked her arm. “You’re terrible. He’s mine, okay? Go find someone else.” Her smile turned sly. “Perhaps a certain Warden…?”

It was her turn to blush. “Alistair’s just a friend,” she mumbled.

“Sure, and Leliana’s just a scout,” Helena teased her. “He’s cute, you know. You two look good together.”

“He’s like, royalty, though,” she replied with a smile. “Not meant for me at all.”

“Not really, I mean, he seems to be happy just being a Warden.”

“For now,” Samarra commented, a mysterious smile on her face.

* * *

“Hey Sutherland!” she cheerfully greeted the young lad as she climbed the stairs. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, lady Samarra!” he said, scrambling to his feet. “I apologize, I should have greeted you sooner…”

“None of that lady business, Donal, what have I told you before?” she chided him with a smile. She said a quick hello to Maryden, who’d been sitting opposite him. It looked like they’d been in the middle of… something, judging by the glasses of ale on the table.

He flushed. “Yes,  _ serah _ . Sorry.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt your conversation,” she said with a small smile, “but I’ve come to tell you that you’re to report to Commander Cullen. The Inquisitor is very interested in the tip that you have, and she’d like you to handle it.”

“Me?” he squeaked. “I want to help, but… I don’t know how to fight…”

“You’ll do fine, Donal,” Maryden assured him.

“Cullen will make sure you get some training, don’t worry,” she said. “Just make sure you meet him as soon as you can, okay?”

“I’ll do that,” he promised, darting a look towards the bard. “I should probably go now… shouldn’t I?” he seemed torn on what to do.

“Go,” Maryden reassured him. “We can talk later. I’ll be here.”

Shooting her a grateful look, he practically ran out of the tavern to his meeting, leaving the two women in an awkward silence. “He seems nice,” Samarra finally said.

“He is. Shy fellow, but he’s got a good head and a good heart. The Inquisitor seems to attract the best kind,” Maryden commented. The minstrel sized her up. “So, you got a couple of minutes? The ale’s on me.”

“Sure,” she said, sliding into the seat that had been occupied by Sutherland. “Make that a mead, though.”

Maryden’s lips quirked. “You’re what they say, then.”

“What do they say?” she asked, genuinely baffled.

“Word around says you’re the soul of the Inquisition. Don’t get me wrong, everyone knows the Inquisitor’s the leader, and a damn fine one too. She’d got the nicest heart we’ve seen. But people notice how you walk with everyone. That gets the folks talking. Of course, the nobles aren’t fond of it, but they’ll never turn their noses up at you - not directly, anyway. They say you inspire the Herald. Don’t know about all that, but I suppose it’s true enough that you’ve a moment for everyone.”

“Well. Huh. Wow.” Samarra’s breath came out in a rush. “That’s, uhh… that’s something. Look, I don’t influence the Inquisitor, I just give her my opinion. She’s the one who makes all the decisions, you know.”

“People know that,” the minstrel said. “No one can say you strut around boasting about your relationship with her. Still, it’s hard to believe you’re not an inspiration for at least some of the things she’s done.”

“Like what?” she asked, bewildered.

“The whole thing with the magister, for a start. Plenty of folk around think he should’ve been hung. Then she shows the world a father who was scared for his son, and suddenly, everyone’s thinking. What if it’d been them, someone they knew and loved? So when she gives him another chance, sure, people aren’t happy, but they’re thinking she’s compassionate, but just.”

“That was completely her decision,” Samarra shifted uncomfortably, and Maryden noticed.

“Don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” the minstrel said with a smile. “Just wanted to point out that the Inquisition’s doing a whole heap of good. And good attracts good, you know? Most of the people in here are the same, too. It’s a rare case when you come across a lout or a ruffian, and when you do, they’re taken care of instantly. No one here stands for that kind of shit.”

“The Inquisitor insists that everyone be treated equally.”

“And it’s about time, too. We all bleed the same, don’t we?”

“That’s a pretty eloquent way of putting it.” Samarra smiled. She took a sip of her ale. “So, what’s your story?”

“I’m from a small town, Brownbury. You heard of it?” Maryden asked. She shook her head no. “Yeah, it’s pretty small. Quiet and peaceful, a lot of folks don’t mind living there, but I always wanted to travel, to see the world. My parents thought it was just a phase, called it a pipe dream. But it wasn’t. Sure enough, I took off when I turned seventeen, made my way around on foot, joining up with caravans and merchants, moving from tavern to tavern. Seemed like a good way to make a living and see the world. It wasn’t all fun, though. Plenty of folk around who’ll take advantage of a young girl on her own, but I was lucky I never met any of them. Spent some time in Orlais; never got the hang of the Game they play. I don’t have the nerve for it, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Anyway, made my way to Haven for the Conclave, figured with all the important folks up there I could make some good coin. Then the explosion happened, and, well… figured the Inquisition was the safest place to be.”

“I’ve enjoyed your songs,” Samarra admitted with a grin.

“That’s some praise. There’s rumors around you’ve got a good voice on you.”

“Oh, I sing when I’m bored, you know how it is,” she waved her hand dismissively.

Maryden laughed. “Well, you ever want a shot at entertaining a group of folk, I’d be more than happy to try out a duet.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Samarra chuckled.

Cabot shouted out at Maryden to get back to work, and the minstrel sighed. “Well, that’s my cue,” she said, getting up. “You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Samarra waved her off.

She stayed seated, nursing her drink in her hands, listening to Maryden singing “Enchanters”. She was startled out of her reverie by a voice.

“Is this seat taken?”

She found herself face to face with a dwarf. Cinnamon brown hair, neatly braided and pinned up into a no-nonsense bun showed off a face liberally sprinkled with freckles. Surprisingly delicate eyebrows framed slightly wide-set chocolate brown eyes. Her nose was long and pointed, the end tipping up every so slightly. A wide, generously proportioned mouth. There was a scar on her right cheek that looked vaguely like a lightning bolt.

Brenna Cadash.

“Nope,” she said, raising her eyebrows as the dwarf sat down opposite her. “You must be Brenna Cadash.”

The dwarf nodded. “You must be the Oracle, then.”

Samarra huffed. “I do so wish people would stop calling me that,” she grumbled. “Please, call me Samarra.” She signalled to Flissa for a round of drinks. “Ale’s fine for you?” she asked Brenna.

“It is. Thanks,” Brenna said shortly.

They sat in silence, each measuring up the other. Flissa brought over their drinks, and Samarra spent a few minutes talking to her, asking her how things were. Once the barkeep had left, she found Brenna staring speculatively at her.

“So, you get the Carta off your back?” she asked pleasantly.

Brenna’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “So you  _ were _ behind it,” she stated.

“I didn’t sent the Carta after you?” she was puzzled.

“Not that. My debt. Your ambassador walks up to me, calm as the Stone, hands me a bag of coin and tells me to pay off my debt. She had no clue who I was, what I was, or what I would do with it. For all she knew I’d run off with it. So I ask her, and she tells me you’ve vouched for me. Now, how’s that possible, I wonder. Isn’t like we’ve met before. So I’m curious now, need to find out who this strange woman who’s sticking up for me even before we’ve met. Got the Carta off my back, though I gotta feeling I ain’t seen the last of them. That’s for another day, though. But you wanna tell me how you know me, and why I feel like I know you?”

“I’m the, uhh… resident seeress around.” Samarra choked on the word. “I get visions. I saw you in one, pegged you for a good person, and told the Inquisitor. That’s about it.”

“Uh-huh,” Brenna nodded skeptically. “And that’s all it took? Just one weird lady telling the mighty Inquisitor that I’m good?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Samarra replied casually, not wanting to get drawn into an argument.

“Huh.” Brenna leaned back and sipped from her tankard. “You’re a strange lot up in here, aren’t you?”

“You can say that,” she grinned. “We’ve got all sorts. It’s good to have you on board.”

“That’s what the Inquisitor said, too,” Brenna remarked disbelievingly. “Never thought someone from the Carta would be so welcome.”

“I told you,” Samarra chuckled. “We’ve got all sorts here. There’s a Tevinter mage, a qunari who used to be part of the Ben-Hassrath, the Champions of Kirkwall, an elven apostate, a Grey Warden… we’re a quirky mix, all right.”

Brenna grinned then, for the first time. “Sounds like I’ll fit right in, then.” She cleared her throat, and looked away. “I ain’t too good at the whole feelings thing, but, uhhh… thank you. For what you did. I’d have been up shit creek if the Inquisition hadn’t helped me out.”

Touched, Samarra reached out and patted her hand. “Welcome to the Inquisition, Brenna Cadash. I have a feeling you and I are going to become good friends.”

Brenna raised her tankard. “I’ll drink to that,” she smiled, clinking her mug with Samarra’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how when you talk to Maryden she gets this weird kind of dialect? I'm positive that's just a front. That's all part of her minstrel act, and I'm sticking with that story!
> 
> Sutherland is awesome. His enthusiasm is catching! I always recruit him - except this one time where I didn't realize that when the quest comes up to go save him in the Storm Coast, if you travel there for a different quest and _don't_ rescue him, _**he dies**_. When it happened to me I couldn't even undo it because my last save point was... okay basically the lesson I learned there was that I need to save _all the dang time_ I'm sorry, Donal, Voth and the archer whose name I can't remember :( Incidentally, if you do save him, in the comics he's part of the group that's sent to clear the path before the Inquisitor rides out to meet Corypheus for the last time - how cool is that?
> 
> Out of all the background-related quests, Lavellan's is the most moving. One wrong move and poof! Your clan slaughtered. I think Adaar has something similar, I'm not sure? Trevelyan's is just - I mean, "oh no my relatives _want_ stuff" isn't exactly nail-biting, is it? I kinda-sorta want to give one of my Lavellans the tragedy of losing their clan, but goddammit I can't bring myself to. I guess I will, just like the time I forced myself to let Celene be murdered, and then having Briala executed so that Gaspard could rule... look I just like making all the nice/good/happy decisions, okay?


	92. Warm Welcomes With Wicked Grace And Wild Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New faces in the Inquisition. Plus, more Wicked Grace!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update frequency: hopefully more often?
> 
> Sentences in italics indicate thought.
> 
> * * *

“Lady Samarra?” a shy, hesitant voice caught her attention, and she spun around coming face to face with Mahanon Lavellan.

“Mahanon!” she exclaimed happily. “I’m so happy to see you. How fares your clan? I hope we were able to help them?”

He flushed. “Yes. With the Inquisition’s help, our clan thrives. We feared we could come under attack from the cities near Wycome, but the soldiers the Inquisitor sent made them halt. The diplomat explained what had happened to them, showed them the red lyrium, and they left in peace. Keeper Deshanna has been installed as part of the new city council, along with a city elf and several of your kind. It’s our hope that there will be a fair rule for all, humans and elves alike.”

“I’m so very glad to hear it,” she said with a beaming smile. “But why are you here? Should you not be with your clan?”

“I’ve seen what the Inquisition does,” he said. “The Inquisitor helps everyone. I want to be a part of it. I can help. I’m good with a bow, I was a hunter for my clan.”

“Are you sure, Mahanon?” she asked. “Would you not be happier with your clan?”

“My clan owes you and the Inquisitor our lives,” he said gravely. “I would repay that, if you would let me.”

“There is no debt,” she said gently. “All lives are precious. There is nothing to repay.”

He refused to budge. “I would still pledge my service, debt or no debt.”

“Well then,” she said with a smile, taking a step forward and giving him a brief hug. “ _An’daran atish’an tarasyl’an tel’as_ , Mahanon Lavellan.”

“ _En’an’sal’enast ea amahn._ ”  he replied with a small smile. “I did you know you spoke our tongue, my lady.”

“Please, call me Samarra,” she said. “And yes. I fell out of the Breach, and when I did, I gained some affinity for languages.”

“Oh,” he said. Then, in a rush, “I mean no offense, but it is rather strange that a _shemlen_ would be granted our language when our kind yet lingers.”

Her face fell. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said quietly. “I do not know why I was chosen, only that I was.”

She left him, even as he was apologizing. She wondered how many elves felt the same way he did; it struck her then, that many elves would resent her for it. Disheartened, she made her way into the rotunda, heading for her room.

Solas was there, sitting up on his scaffold, brush in hand. He seemed to be carefully outlining the Warden insignia, placing his brush strokes precisely. Judging by how he’d stiffened, she knew he’d felt her presence. For a minute, she hesitated. He seemed rather forlorn. She knew Helena had warned him to stay away from her, but it surprised her that the Inquisitor had forgiven his actions against the mages. Though if what he’d claimed was true… if they had been trying to kill her… she wavered in uncertainty.

Then she remembered the look on his face as he’d left her. The rage, the anger, the unbridled vicious bloodthirst, and she looked away from him, heading up the stairs. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his shoulder slump imperceptibly, and she felt a pang of guilt.

She wasn’t doing anything wrong, she reminded herself. She was only protecting herself.

It didn’t stop her from feeling like shit, though.

Giving up, she turned back and headed for the tavern, intending to drink away her emotions. Technically, no one could stop her; she’d been through a lot. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed several people looking agitated. Turning her head for a better look, she sighed. Of course. The last of her would-have-been Inquisitors had shown up at last.

Karaas Adaar.

She headed for his group instead, an intent look on her face. She reached his group as he was trying to explain to several soldiers that he was here to offer his help to the Inquisition. Suddenly, the sight of the soldiers, doubt and scorn and fear on their faces made her angry.  

_What is the point in trying to save any of them if they’re going to remain so prejudiced?_

_Them? As in… the humans?_

_No, them as in every fucking one of them. The elves want to shit on me for being a human who can speak elven. The humans want to shit on me for the same reason. Why do they deserve my efforts? Let them sort out this mess for themselves._

_You don’t mean that. Would you really just allow everyone to burn? Yes, there are bad people in the world, but there are good people, too. Would you just give up on Helena?_

_I hate it when you make sense._

_I know. But you can do good. You remember what Maryden said? The Inquisition attracts good people. You can’t give up on them. You can help change their minds._

_You’re right. You’re right. I need to keep that in mind._

_Yes, you do._

He was tall - about as tall as Bull - but wasn’t as wide as Bull was. He was muscular nonetheless, his skin the a maple syrup brown tinged with a hint of grey. Black horns with a texture somewhat like the bark on trees were angled towards the back of his head, and curled back inwards towards his face, the tips capped with a black metal that looked like obsidian. His hair was the color of the deepest ebony, cut in a way that it fell across his forehead. Unlike Bull, he looked clean shaven though there was a five-o-clock shadow on his jawline. He appeared calm and composed, very much in control of himself, and she found herself being drawn to him. His companions did not share his demeanor, both looked worried. The female she assumed to be Hissra was slightly shorter than him - though much taller than she was - and had mocha colored skin, and light brown eyes. Samarra found her to be quite pretty. Her horns were short and straight, and capped with the same material that Karaas’ were. Meraad was the broadest of the three, and she immediately knew he was a warrior. His skin was more grey than brown, and, like Bull, he had many scars that criss-crossed across his skin - or what she could see of it, given that he was wearing armor. His face was twisted into a scowl, the amber eyes he had glinting in irritation. His horns were the largest of the three, and they were spiralled. If she didn’t intervene, they might have an incident, and _that_ she did not want.

“Karaas Adaar!” she could out, loud and commanding, and he turned to her with a start. “I presume you have Hissra and Meraad with you? Come with me,” she ordered, intending to take them to Helena. She knew they followed her; the guards would not have stopped them, as they knew who she was.

“How do you know who we are?” he asked suspiciously, as he caught up to her. Silver-grey eyes narrowed their gaze on her, and his full mouth was thinned out in distrust.

“I’m Samarra. Some call me a seeress. I have been awaiting your arrival, as well as that of your companions. I trust you’re not too tired?” she asked.

“No, it was a straightforward journey, although Meraad doesn’t understand why you have chosen to settle in a place in the middle of nowhere.” Karaas said, a smile in his voice. He was clearly trying to charm her.

“When you have nothing, you cannot afford to be picky,” she said shortly.

“Ah, yes,” he said apologetically. “I heard about what happened at Haven. My apologies, my lady.”

“No offence taken. It is rather out of the way, but Skyhold suits our needs exceptionally well.” She knocked at Helena’s office, and pushed open the door. “Inquisitor,” she said casually, “these are the three mercenaries I spoke to you about.”

“Oh, the Valo-Kas mercenaries, yes, I remember.” Helena stood up from her chair. “I’m sorry to hear about what happened to the rest of your group. Too many good lives were lost in the Conclave.”

The qunari stared at them in shock and disbelief. Karaas finally seemed to find his voice. “You… you know of us? You bring us here, straight to the Inquisitor, without a worry or a care? What if… what if we had been assassins?”

Helena laughed heartily. “Samarra here would have known. She has vouched for the three of you. And our spymaster has already investigated the three of you.” She eyed the qunari with the staff on his back. “You must be Karaas, the mage,” she said pleasantly, “but I’m afraid I don’t know your companions.”

“That’s Meraad, and the woman on my left is Hissra.” Karaas introduced them.

“Nice to meet you both,” Helena nodded at them, a smile on her face. “You will be welcome here. If anyone gives you a hard time, report to Samarra, Leliana - our spymaster - or Josephine - our ambassador - and they’ll take care of it. There’s already a qunari in the Inquisition - goes by the name Iron Bull, leads the mercenary group called the Chargers, if you’ve heard of them.”

Meraad shook his head in recognition. “They’re supposed to be good,” he rumbled in a deep voice.

“Well, anyway,” Helena continued in a cheerful voice. “Perhaps you can help him out. You see, Bull only recently turned Tal-Vashoth. Used to be part of the Ben-Hassrath…”

Hissra hissed. “You want us to babysit one of _them_?” she all but spat.

“No,” Helena said calmly, but her countenance had changed to someone who gave orders and expected them to be obeyed. “I’m saying that he’s a good man, and he’s scared because he’s never known a life without the Qun. You don’t _have_ to help him, but out of everyone here at Skyhold, you may be the ones who are best suited to. Moving on,” she said, dismissing the previous topic, “Meraad and Hissra will report to Cullen. He’s the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces. Karaas, you might want to meet with Fiona, the former Grand Enchanter. I understand you’re not from a Circle, but I need to know what your talents are before I consider taking any of you out on the field with me. Josephine will assign you accommodations. You will, of course, be given a fair wage for the services you provide. Samarra,” the Inquisitor said, turning towards her, “would you be so kind as to show them around?”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” she said, unable to keep herself from smiling.

Helena rolled her eyes and shook her head. “It’s my hope that we get better acquainted with each other,” she ended with a smile. “Unfortunately, I must return to my work. Perhaps I shall see you in the tavern in the evening,” she graciously dismissed them.

The four of them walked out; Samarra couldn’t help laughing quietly to herself at the stunned expressions on the faces of the other three.

“What… just happened?” Karaas asked, bewildered.

“You’ve been hired by the Inquisition,” she said with a grin. “Welcome aboard! Come on, I’ll show you around.”

She took them first to Josephine, who had them registered and showed them their rooms; Hissra and Meraad, as a married couple, were to share one, while Karaas was given a smaller room next to theirs. She then took them to Leliana, who’d only sighed and welcomed them, pinning the lot of them with that intense look of hers. Samarra noticed Hissra and Karaas shift ever so slightly under the weight of her stare. She then showed them around Skyhold, taking them to the tavern to introduce them quickly to Bull, who’d raised his brows in surprise, but had been polite on the whole.

She’d noticed that the three of them had stiffened up significantly when they saw Bull. Probably because the Qunari were vicious against the Vashoth, and hunted them down and killed them mercilessly. Hopefully they’d come to understand that he was a good guy, and help Bull out with his feelings of suddenly being set adrift.

Finally, she dropped Hissra and Meraad off at Cullen’s office, and took Karaas to Fiona. The qunari hadn’t stopped flirting with her, though she certainly had to admit he was far more charming than Bull had been, and she soon found herself responding. Flirting was harmless, surely.

Something deep in the pit of her stomach reminded her _someone_ didn’t feel the same way.

_Well… too bad for him._

 

* * *

 

“There you are, Crimson!” Varric exclaimed. “Where have you been hiding? Never mind, you’re just in time. We almost had to start without you!”

She shook her head amusedly. “We can’t have that now, can we?”

“Laugh it up all you want,” the dwarf chuckled, “but you know I’m going to end up with your coin, don’t you?”

She stuck her tongue out at him, then laughed. “So, what’s the plan?” she asked.

“Wicked Grace. Inquisitor’s orders. Said something about needing to get away from the nobles for a bit. Plus, we’ve got a bunch of new additions, she said, wanted to make them feel at home.”

She thought of Karaas and Bull. “Well, this should be interesting,” she grinned.

“Chuckles… might be there,” he warned her, an apologetic look on his face. “Helena didn’t want to, but Josephine said it’d be rude to leave him out, especially since it’s meant for the Inner Circle. Vivienne was invited, but she won’t be coming, of course. Maybe Chuckles will stay away, too.”

“One can only hope,” she muttered.

The second floor of the tavern was cleared out, the stairs guarded by the Chargers who nodded to her as she walked up. “Someone’ll be right up with your drink, little wolf,” Krem gave her a cheeky wink, the others laughing as she flashed him a mock-glare.

“Look who showed up, everybody,” Varric drawled as they approached the massive table that had been set up. It seemed as though everyone was there - the advisors, Helena, the Inner Circle members, and the newest additions. She squealed in surprise as she saw the Hawkes, running over to them immediately and wrapping an arm around each of them.

“You never told me you were back!” she said accusingly.

“Well, you’re the seeress,” Marian smirked. “Should’ve seen it coming.”

“Oh, ha ha, very funny. I didn’t know you’d become the Inquisition's official jester.”

Garrett pulled her down into his lap, hugging her from behind. She plonked her feet up on Marian's lap, sticking her tongue out at the raven-haired woman when she wrinkled her nose in distaste. “We have a surprise for you,” he snickered, giving her ear a playful tug. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

“Oh come on, just tell me!” she said, twisting around to look at him.

“Carver and Sebastian will be coming in a day or two,” he relented, smiling at the pleasure on her face. “They can’t stay for long, but they wanted to meet you. And since our spymaster over there won’t let you out, we thought we’d get them here.”

“Oh my god. Are you serious?” she beamed. “I hope they like me,” she said anxiously the initial excitement having died down and given way to nerves.

“Are you kidding? The woman who save our lives? They’ll be thrilled!” Marian elbowed her.

“Okay, I’m warning you in advance Marian, I might just drool over Sebastian. Just the slightest bit, okay? Don’t kill me.”

Marian and Garrett chortled. “You can look all you want, but hands off, he’s mine,” Marian teased.

“I promise,” she said jokingly, placing a hand over her heart in a mock-vow, joining in their laughter.

“Are you planning to play from there, Samarra?” Helena called out, a laugh in her eye.

“Hmmm, let me think now, it is rather comfortable…” she teased.

“Get off,” Garrett huffed. “I can only take a few minutes of you, woman!”

“Why Garrett, are you trying to say something?” she laughed, watching him turn pink.

“What?” he sputtered. “Maker, no, I didn’t mean it _that_ way!” he huffed as everyone in the table broke into laughter.

Marian pulled up a seat for her, and she sat between the twins, her eyes wandering around the table. Vivienne was missing, but Mahanon, Brenna and Karaas were there.

“Where are Hissra and Meraad?” she asked him.

“Hanging out with the Chargers,” he explained. “It turns out they know Stitches and Embers. They’re catching up with them.”

She nodded absently. Mahanon was shooting her an apologetic glance, and she just gave him a brusque nod in return. His words had hurt her, even if he hadn’t meant them to.

“You want to go ahead and deal, Ruffles?” Varric called out.

“I do hope I can recall the rules,” Josephine said, flustered, as she expertly shuffled the cards. Samarra had to hold back a smile. “It’s been ages since I played a game of Wicked Grace.”

“That just means you’ll have to play with us more often!” Samarra smiled.

“Are three drakes better than a pair of songs?” Cassandra commented. “I can never remember.”

“Makes it easier for me to take your money, Seeker,” Varric smirked.

“Ugh,” Cassandra made her famous sound of disgust.

“Cassandra,” Dorian’s voice rang out, “when Varric told you not to show anyone your hand, it included not announcing it to the table.” The altus took a sip of his wine.

“Ugh,” Cassandra huffed.

She was looking at her cards when she felt the shift in atmosphere. _Not him. Please, anyone but him. I don’t want him here. I just want a good time._

“Chuckles! Glad you could join us,” Varric mumbled, shooting her a glance. “Pull up a chair, will you?”

“Thank you, Master Tethras,” Solas said politely, pulling up a chair next to the dwarf. Samarra was glad he was seated several seats away from her, so that she couldn’t see his face unless she deliberately tried to.

“There’s a crown on his head, but a sword too,” Cole broke the suddenly awkward silence. “His head didn’t want either.”

It seemed to break the tension, and everyone chuckled.

“Don’t talk to the face cards, Kid,” Varric advised.

They played slowly, leisurely, lots of crude jokes and funny stories. “So,” Varric addressed Mahanon, “how’d you end up here, Sprout?”

Samarra grinned. It looked like Mahanon was officially part of the group; he’d been given a nickname.

“I, uhhh…” he flushed with the sudden attention. “The Inquisitor and Lady Samarra helped protect my clan. I thought that the Inquisition was a place where I could do some good.”

“You’re Dalish, right?” Garrett commented. “I have a friend who’s Dalish. Those markings on your face… who do they stand for?”

“June” Mahanon said uncomfortably.

“So then, Mahanon,” she interjected, sensing he wasn’t comfortable talking about his vallaslin. “You’ve spent a lot of time on the forest. Can you please tell me why the halla are so beautiful, but make _such_ a terrible noise?”

That made everyone laugh again, and Mahanon relaxed in his chair. “It’s a question I’ve often asked my _halla’amelan_ several times. He claims that it is because nothing in this world can be completely perfect. If the halla had pleasant voices, they would be perfect creatures, and that cannot be allowed.”

Karaas leaned back lazily in his chair. “I’m going to have to disagree with this herder of yours,” he drawled. “I can see perfection, and she’s seated opposite me,” he winked at her.

Samarra blushed as everyone laughed. “I’m flattered you think so,” she retorted.

“Oh, no, no, you misunderstand,” Karaas corrected. “I don’t merely _think_ it. I _know_ it.” he grinned cheekily, and she blushed harder.

“Crimson’s certainly living up to her name!” Varric chortled.

She didn’t have to look at Solas to know he wasn’t pleased.

“So, Brenna,” Bull rumbled. “That weapon of yours. How’s a small thing like you carry such a large sword?”

Brenna casually raised the pot by two silvers. “It’s all in the grip, The Iron Bull,” she remarked casually.

“Bull will do. You interested in a quick spar sometime?” he asked.

“If you’re sure you can handle me,” she smirked, and Samarra cheered her silently.

“I think you’ve got it all wrong,” Bull chuckled.

“See, the thing is, I can see you,” Brenna said with a wicked smile, “but you can’t see me out on the field. That gives me the advantage.”

The others cheered her on, while Bull looked less than amused. “You’ll have to worry about me stepping on you,” he rumbled.

“That’ll be easy,” Samarra teased. “She looks nimble enough.”

The round ended with Josephine taking in the winnings. Samarra concentrated on her cards. “So,” she looked around the table, “anyone got any good stories?”

“Why don’t you get us started, Crimson?” Varric suggested.

She thought about it as she looked at her cards. “I’ve got one,” she said, silently chuckling to herself. “Once, when I visited Ayesleigh, I was hired as a servant at the house of a minor noble. You know the sort - the ones who want others to believe they’re more important than they actually are.” She took a sip of her mead. “Anyway, the woman of the house got it into her head that she needed an exotic pet, you know, a symbol of her status. So she managed to track down a hunter, who brings her a beautiful parrot the next day. It was a gorgeous bird, I have to admit - all green and blue and yellow, absolutely stunning. The best part, or so he said, was that it could talk. Not a lot, but it could talk. I still remember him warning her that the bird had belonged to the madame of a whorehouse in a nearby city, but the noblewoman was so thrilled with how beautiful it was she ignored it.

So she buys the bird, and places it, with this proud, haughty look on her face, in the living room, and she waits for it to start talking. It looked around the room - I swear I’ve never seen a more intelligent looking bird, mind you - and then it looks at her, and it says, “New house, new madam.”

She was shocked, and she sent me out of the room, but me and a few of the other girls couldn’t help spying on her. She stared at the bird for a few minutes, and then she seemed to let it drop. We were all disappointed. At supper, the woman was showing off the bird to her two daughters, when it spoke up again. “New house, new madam, new whores.”

The daughters were offended, but their mother explained where the pet had come from, and soon they found it amusing rather than insulting. That was until their father came home. The moment the lord walked in, the parrot let out a loud squawk, flapped its wings excitedly, and loudly screeched out:

‘New house, new madam, new whores, same old faces. Hello, George!’”

Everyone burst out into laughter. Garrett had tears rolling down his eyes. Even Solas had a grin on his usually stern face.

“Maker, that’s a good one,” Varric said when he’d stopped laughing. “You mind if I use that, Crimson?”

“Sure, go for it,” she laughed.

“What happened after that?” Cassandra asked her.

“She dismissed those of us who’d heard the whole thing. Wrong move, of course; in a few days the story was all over town.”

“But where did you go?” Josephine asked in concern.

She shrugged. “Back to my mentor. I was staying with her, in any case. I took up odd jobs around when we went to Ayesleigh; seemed a good way to learn more about the world.” She placed down the Angel of Death, grateful for the opportunity to change topics. “And I believe this round is mine, ladies and gentlemen.”

There were a few grumbles, but they were all in good fun.

“Have you heard the story about Lord Hatsfield?” Garrett spoke up once they had started the next round.

Marian let out a snicker. Varric just sighed and rolled his eyes.

“No, I’d like to hear it,” Helena said interestedly.

“To start with, keep in mind that Lord Hatsfield’s wife had run away with her lover only a few weeks prior to this,” Garrett began, his lips twitching to hold back his smile. “Anyway, the old man was in his carriage one day, riding back to Kirkwall from Val Royeaux I’m told, when he was chased by what he thought were bandits. Not wanting to be robbed, he gave the driver instructions to go faster. His driver protested, claiming that the men were, in fact, the Imperial Highway Patrol, and they had indicated to the driver to stop the carriage. Lord Hatsfield, being the man he is, called it nonsense and demanded the man speed up.

The poor driver, of course, had no choice but to obey. After a long and lengthy chase, the riders finally caught up to the carriage, and manage to stop it. The head of the patrol, who was absolutely angry by this time, his face red, approached Lord Hatsfield. ‘ _Ser’_ the Patrol Guard said. ‘Can you give me one good reason why you felt the need to run from our calls to halt?’

Lord Hatsfield, cool as you please, replied with a straight face:

‘I do apologize. My wife ran off with a guard, you see. I was afraid you were trying to return her.’

Garrett’s eyes were on the cards in his hand, but there was a wicked smirk on his face.

“The patrol let him pass without any further delay.”

Samarra snorted, she was laughing so hard, as were the others. To her surprise, Cassandra was laughing the hardest of them all; her face was also slightly flushed, so Samarra thought it was perhaps the effect of too much alcohol.

They played a few more rounds, with no clear winner; everyone seemed to relax the longer they played. Even Mahanon, who had looked unsure and uncertain at the start, was lounging back with a smile, in the middle of a conversation with Blackwall. Bull was staring at Dorian, and she noticed, to her amusement, that Dorian seemed to be flustered. She had a feeling they’d end up in bed at the end of the night.

“So,” Karaas addressed her again, that charming smile on his face. “You know much about us, seeress, but we’ve yet to hear your story.”

Brenna nodded in agreement.

She just chuckled, uncomfortable with the sudden attention. “Nothing unremarkable, really. I’m sure anyone here would tell you.”

“Don’t listen to Crimson,” Varric advised. The dwarf gave them a brief rundown of her story, but he made it sound much more exotic and interesting, made her sound like someone absolutely unique. She was blushing when he finished, shaking her head.

“Oh come on, Varric, I’m not that interesting,” she protested.

“You must be joking, _mea dulce_ ,” Dorian piped up. “I must agree with Varric.” He turned to Karaas. “Did you know she managed to control her magic as she travelled to the Conclave? And once she’d been introduced to her tutor-” he raised his glass to indicate Solas, “-our resident elven apostate over there, she managed to control it in a month. Or so I’ve heard. She positively _thrashed_ me when we first me. I underestimated her; something I shall never do again,” he grinned at her.

“Yeah, n’ she can shoot arrows like me,” Sera chimed in, swaying in her seat. Samarra suspected that the blond elf would pass out shortly, given how inebriated she looked.

“A mage _and_ an archer?” Karaas looked impressed. “It seems I have much to learn from you, my lady.”

She made a dismissive gesture, now terribly uncomfortable with the slew of lies she’d spread to her friends - people she cared about, people who _trusted_ her.  “Dorian and Solas know far more than I do,” she said lightly. “Even Garrett here is a talented mage. I’m but a beginner compared to them.”

Garrett let out a hoot of laughter. “She’s just being modest,” he laughed. “Don’t listen to her.”

“I think we need more alcohol, and another story,” she muttered, desperate for a way out.

“More alcohol, you say?” Bull rumbled. He made his way to the stairway and muttered something to Krem, who returned with a large black bottle.

“Whatever _is_ that stuff?” Dorian asked disdainfully.

“Maraas-lok,” Bull replied with a sly smile, and Karaas starting coughing.

“You have that stuff here?” he exclaimed in surprise.

“Of course,” Bull grinned. “And we’re all going to try it!”

“Why do I have a feeling that’s going to be a bad idea?” Helena mumbled.

“Come on, Inquisitor!” Bull exclaimed jovially. “We all gotta live a little sometime!” He poured out a generous measure in everyone’s cups. They all took a sip gingerly, and immediately everyone burst out coughing.

The stuff was… potent, to say the least. It was like liquid fire, burning its way down her throat, and heating up her stomach. A few moments in, and her nerves began to burn, but not unpleasantly. She eyed her mug consideringly. Surely the second sip couldn’t be as bad…?

She tested it out.

 _Nope_ , she thought to herself, _not true_ , as the burning grew in intensity. It was strange, to feel fire inside of her, but not unpleasant. Suddenly, the world seemed far more pleasant. All her troubles seemed so far away. She forgot about the Dread Wolf sitting but a few feet away from her, his eyes raking over her form every now and then. He wasn’t a problem, surely. He was just an angry little man. An angry man who was angry that things had not gone according to his plan. He was just an angry egg who was angry she wasn’t falling all over him. He wasn't a problem at all.

She finished the cup, and felt far more pleasant.

“I think that’s enough for Crimson,” she heard Marian chuckle. She looked around blearily to find several of her companions in the same state. Only Josephine and Leliana looked relatively sober. Even Helena looked quite out of it. The scene was so amusing she burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Helena slurred.

“You’re drunk!” she burst out laughing again. “We’re all drunk!”

“That was the point of this,” Helena muttered, laying her head on the table.

She stared across the room at Karaas. “Hey, you,” she slurred. “Wanna take me back to my room?”

The table broke out into hoots and whistles. He gave her a very tipsy grin. “M’pleasure, m’lady.” He stood up, slightly unsteady, and held his hand out to her. She took it, using his strength to steady herself as she got to her feet.

She walked down the stairs with him, each trying their best to support the other - although Samarra suspected he was doing most of the work. When they left the tavern, however, the fresh air seemed to hit her hard.  Her head spun, and the world seemed to tilt over unpleasantly.  “Karaas?” she garbled. “I’m afraid I’m gonna pass out…”

And she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
>  _An’daran atish’an tarasyl’an tel’as_ \- Welcome to Tarasyl'an Tel'as/Skyhold
> 
>  _En’an’sal’enast ea amahn_ \- Pleased to be here
> 
> * * *
> 
> That one Wicked Grace cutscene is just NOT ENOUGH. I wish it had been made into a repeatable cut scene, like how you get roof time with Sera. That would have just been... guh. I'm now mad at myself because I thought of it and it can't ever happen, also I'm mad at the game for not having it, and mad at Bioware for not making it. That's the perfect amount of annoyed, yeah?
> 
> You know that story the Inquisitor can tell during the scene - the story, but like not really? And the one that Cullen tells (or the end of it anyway?) WELL, I hate not knowing the full story, so I had to put in some decent ones. They're some of the more popular jokes I've heard (I have a brother who sends me terrible jokes - it's his mission in life, apparently, to make me roll my eyes).
> 
> In other, entirely different news - I've been screaming this on my [Tumblr](https://roguelioness.tumblr.com/) for the past few days, but I've completed AWNW, which is ridiculously insane to me because (checks notes) I've been working on this story on and off for _two years_. Two years, y'all. This thing would be a temper-tantrum throwing toddler if it were a baby. As exciting as it, it's quite a relief for me, because AWNW was always meant to be part one. That's right, expect to see more of your favorite _whoopsies my bad_ wolf and the _aw hell nah_ redhead in part 2 (which I have not yet started writing, oof). What this means is updates will be more frequent (as frequent as I can edit the chapter - there's quite a bit of that, and occasionally I've had to re-write some stuff too) - I'm aiming for once a week, which should hopefully give me enough time to research for part 2. I need to get back to the DLCs, and those three as hard as fuck (even though I'm a wimp who plays on casual!).
> 
> Thank you all for being a part of this journey. I would never in my wildest dreams have been able to complete this if it hadn't been for all of my readers and commentators out there. Knowing that I had patient, supportive, kind, caring readers helped me to take the pressure off of myself whenever I had a serious case of writer's block. If I could, I'd reach out and give massive hugs to each and every one of you! ♥

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't help it. This has been buzzing around my head for far, far too long. FAR TOO LONG, I TELL YOU.
> 
> Comments, suggestions, thoughts and the like welcome! *makes grabby hands*


End file.
